Memory
by Starway Man
Summary: The First Evil and Jasmine have gone too far. Whistler gets a clue, and recruits help to make sure things happen very differently during late 2002. The focus of his actions? Xander Harris, and the amnesiac version of Cordelia Chase... (COMPLETE)
1. Prologue

**Date written:** Sun 4 Sep 2016

 **Authors:** Starway Man and Ironbear

 **Emails:** theop at hotkey dot net dot au

 **Acknowledgments:** Thanks to Greywizard and Bill Haden for beta'ing this fanfic. And thanks to Buffyworld, too, for the episode transcripts and shooting scripts consulted in the writing of this story.

 **Category:** AU, Action, Adventure, Angst, Romance

 **Symbols:** "word" indicates speech, { _word_ } indicates thoughts, and «word» indicates telephone voice.

 **Feedback:** Doesn't every fanfic writer want this? So please don't be shy, and tell us what you thought of it!

 **Disclaimer:** We don't own any of the Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel references, they belong to Joss and his gang of writer idi... er, geniuses, and all associated entities. Likewise, those parts of the story that are more or less taken from the BTVS season 7 and Angel season 4 TV episodes belong to Joss et al. as well. Anything from the 2003 BtVS game 'Chaos Bleeds' belongs to Eurocom Entertainment Software and Vivendi Universal Games and whoever else it is. Anything else you recognize, it belongs to whichever legal entity owns it. This is a work of fanfiction, and no remuneration is expected or will be received.

 **Rating:** Overall R, most parts PG-13

 **Warning:** Some very adult situations/concepts and bad language are present in this story. So if you're underage, don't read this!

 **Summary:** The First Evil and Jasmine have gone too far. Whistler gets a clue, and recruits help to make sure things happen very differently during late 2002. The focus of his actions? Xander Harris, and the amnesiac version of Cordelia Chase...

 **Title:** Memory

* * *

"Proverbs 24:6. O, by wise counsel, you shall make your war."

(Quentin Travers, BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER)

"This child – Angel, it's the one good thing we ever did together. The only good thing. You make sure to tell him that."

(Darla, ANGEL)

"Save the cheerleader, save the world."

(Hiro Nakamura, HEROES)

* * *

 **Prologue**

 _Sunday, May 5, 2002 – emergency lane of the Pacific Coast Highway, Malibu; evening:_

A small segment of southern California was currently frozen in time between one moment and the next; apart from the silver-metallic armored demon calling himself Skip, and the human Seer known as Cordelia Chase.

Or so they both thought – most likely, that was why neither the human nor the demon noticed the medium-sized, lugubrious-looking man standing not far away. Well, you could sort of call him a man; he was human on his father's side, even if his mother had been a pureblood demon...

Skip looked somberly at the Seer and said, "The Powers are waiting for you to join them, Cordelia, if you decide to do it. So what'll it be?"

Glaring at Skip, Cordelia replied, "I ever come face-to-face with those Powers That Be, we are going to have a talk; a big talk."

Skip smiled slightly. "I don't doubt it. So?"

"I'm scared," Cordelia said, biting her lip. "But I know it's the right thing to do. I know that somehow, it's all gonna be alright if I do this." Sighing, she looked at him and said, "What exactly do I have to do?"

"Just say yes."

"I already have." Right on cue, golden sparkles appeared around Cordelia as she started to float upwards in a column of white light. "Oh, wow... "

Skip vanished. Still unnoticed, the eavesdropper's head tilted back as he watched the Vision Girl ascend in a glowing column of light, still surrounded by those golden sparkles. The man then said quietly...

"Holy crap. How did _**this**_ happen?"

Sighing heavily, Whistler – for that was his name, at least lately – watched the Seer vanish with a brilliant flash of light up high in the heavens. Afterwards, he looked down, removing his pork pie hat and turning it slowly in his hands, staring down at it. { _Well, here goes nothing..._ }

Whistler attempted to access his powers of precognition, a gift from the Powers That Be. They didn't always work; just whenever his bosses wanted them to. And a few moments later, he foresaw one possible future –

– one that was dark and grim, not just for Los Angeles but for the Earth as a whole, and one that the Messenger instantly wanted to prevent from coming to pass at _**all**_ costs.

"Yeah. Pretty sure I'm gonna need some help on this one."

* * *

 _A while later – abandoned residence, Sunnydale; night:_

Whistler was hunting a witch.

Hunting only in the most general sense of the word, of course, as he was not interested in actually killing her or burning her at the stake. She was a rather special witch and so killing her would be a waste of potential, or at least that was what his bosses thought. Whistler, himself, wasn't so sure.

{ _Eh, whatever._ } The Messenger for the Powers entered the basement of the building where his prey was located, and looked around carefully. He had heard what this particular witch had gotten up over the last six months or so, and thus it paid to be careful.

He finally found her huddled against the wall on the other side of the room, looking like a complete mess.

"Well. Look at you. All strung out on the magicks – kinda like a crack addict," Whistler said neutrally.

"Who are you?" Hazel eyes filled with misery opened to look at him, proof that his arrival had not gone unnoticed.

"Good question, kid. My name's Whistler. Well, since '96, anyway. And no need to tell me your name; I already know you are."

"What do you want?" the witch asked hollowly.

Whistler shrugged, taking off his hat. "I'm here to talk to you."

"Not interested in talking."

"OK, then you'll listen."

"Why should I?"

Whistler shrugged. "'Cause here and now? This is like a turning point for you, ya know?"

The witch shut her eyes again. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Not surprised. That's my curse, y'see; nobody understands me." Whistler shrugged. "Anyway, what I meant was – way I figure it, you could go one of three ways."

The witch remained silent.

"OK, I'll say it for you; which ways are that? Well, one, you could end up dead after OD'ing on the dark magicks once too often. Two, you could go completely evil; and we're talking total black hat beyond salvage, and who needs to be put down like a rabid dog. Or three, you could actually become somebody. Somebody who's hit rock bottom, sure; but who can still claw her way up to fight the good fight. To become someone who actually matters."

The eyes opened again, but this time completely black orbs stared back at him, with the witch's face twisted by rage. "Leave. Me. Alone!" Her growl echoed through the room.

"Scary," Whistler replied nonchalantly. "Still, I've faced worse than a witch addicted to what that scumbag Rack has to offer. Betcha that guy would be laughing his ass off if he was here right now, huh?"

Black eyes became hazel in color, again laden with misery. "Just leave me alone," the witch whispered.

"Can't do that, sorry. See, things are happening. Can't go into details here and now, of course, but I need you – or someone like you – to help me restore the balance. And you might wanna help out 'cause, well, let's face it; the whole good versus evil thing? Some really big nasties are coming, and the side of truth, justice and puppies is gonna need all the help it can get. So, unless you _**want**_ the apocalypse to happen in about a year's time... "

The female figure slowly rose to its feet, shoulders slumped, head bowed, face hidden behind a curtain of dirty brown hair. "Why can't you just go away, and leave me alone?" she asked him.

"What, am I talkin' to myself here? Like I said, I need your help. And in return, I'll help you escape this hell you've created for yourself, kid. Who knows? Maybe you'll make amends for some of the not-so-nice things you did this year. Find a way to maybe be happy again, someday."

She looked at him, briefly shaking her head. "Happy? I don't even know what that is anymore."

Whistler held out a hand to her. "Maybe you can learn. After all, what have you got left to lose?"

After some hesitation, Amy Madison took the half-demon's hand – and they both vanished from sight.

* * *

 _Wednesday, May 9, 2002 – Kingman's Bluff, Sunnydale; morning:_

Xander Harris knew that he (and the rest of the world) was in big trouble.

It had been one _**hellish**_ year so far, all things considered. He'd done all sorts of stupid stuff, all of which had seemed like a good idea at the time –

Like bringing his best friend Buffy Summers back to life, which meant tearing her soul out of Heaven. Walking out on his wedding to his fiancée, Anya Jenkins, and causing her to become a vengeance demon again. Freezing after Buffy was shot by that asshole Warren Mears, and letting his friend Tara Maclay die from a stray bullet during the killer nerd's rampage.

Not to mention being unable to prevent his other best friend, Willow Rosenberg, immediately going down a dark path of hate and revenge –

Willow had absorbed all the dark magicks she could before she had flayed Warren alive, and then mercilessly killed that gun-toting maniac. She had also tried to murder Warren's sidekicks, Andrew Wells and Jonathan Levinson, who most likely had run for it out of Sunnydale by now. It had gotten so bad that Rupert Giles had teleported back to the Hellmouth from England to stop the semi-crazed witch, before she went too far...

Unfortunately, that hadn't worked out too well – Black Magic Willow had drained all of Giles's borrowed power, and then come up with the terrible idea of destroying the world in order to end everyone's pain.

As she funnelled the life-force of the planet into a demonic statue in order to burn the world into a cinder, the ritual was suddenly interrupted as Xander got in front of the green beam of light. The black-eyed, black-haired, vein-y version of the woman he loved like a sister just glared at him and said, "What do you think you're doing, Xander?"

"Not too sure, myself," he admitted, feeling winded already. "All I know is, Will, you don't wanna do this – "

"Get out of here," Black Magic Willow interrupted coldly, looking like she was in no mood to argue with him.

"Ah, no. You're not the only one with powers, you know. You may be a hopped-up über-witch, but – this carpenter can dry-wall you into the next century," Xander grinned weakly.

"I'm no joke like you, Xander. Get out of my way. Now." She sent a bolt of magic at him; it lifted him off his feet and threw him to the ground at the base of the statue, but it wasn't enough to make Xander give up. As Black Magic Willow started sending that green life-force into the statue of Proserpexa again, he staggered to his feet and blocked the flow of magic once more.

The über-witch glared at him again for it. "You can't stop this."

"Yeah, I get that. It's just, where else am I gonna go? You've been my best friend my whole life. World gonna end... where else would I want to be?" Xander asked her.

Black Magic Willow just looked at him scornfully. "Is this the master plan? You're going to stop me by telling me you love me?"

He resisted the urge to shrug and replied, "Well, originally I was going to walk you off a cliff and hand you an anvil, but... it seemed kinda cartoon-y."

"Still making jokes," she sneered at him.

Xander straightened up and shook his head slightly. "I'm not joking now, Will. I know you're in pain. Heck, I can't even imagine what you're going through, after watching Tara die that way. And now you're about to do something apocalyptically... " He paused, glancing back at the statue. "Well, something apocalyptically stupid, in a nutshell." He spread out his arms. "But hey, I still want to hang. You're Willow."

"Don't call me that!" she snarled angrily.

Xander shrugged. "Why not? It's who you are. Remember first day of kindergarten? You cried because you broke the yellow crayon, and you were too afraid to tell anyone. Sure, you've come a long way since then – and ending the world like this? Not exactly a terrific notion, in my book. But wanna know the truth? I still love you, despite the whole attempted apocalypse thing. I loved crayon break-y Willow, and I love... scary, vein-y Willow. So if I'm going out, it's here. If you wanna kill the world? Well, then start with me. I think I've earned that much, after all these years together."

Black Magic Willow briefly looked upset, before her enraged mask settled back into place. "You think I won't do it?"

Xander told her tenderly, "It doesn't matter. I'll still love you, no matter what you do."

"Shut up!" she gestured angrily. Immediately, his head jerked to the side as if he'd been hit.

{ _Ow! What the-?_ } He could feel cuts on his cheek, as if he'd been clawed by a wild beast. He put his hand up to them, and then looked at his blood-stained fingers. { _No, never mind. Concentrate!_ }

Xander could see Black Magic Willow watching him, panting and looking a bit nervous. So he looked back at her, and said the only thing he could:

"I love you."

Immediately, she made another slashing gesture and he fell to his knees. Panting, he slowly got up again, ignoring the bleeding claw marks on his chest. Xander couldn't help grimacing from the pain, but he nonetheless faced the über-witch again and said pantingly, "I... love y-"

"Shut up!" Black Magic Willow screamed, throwing a blast of magic at him.

{ _The heck?_ } Xander thought to himself, as he staggered backward but didn't fall down. { _That was – well, it hurt, but not as much as I expected._ } He could see Black Magic Willow still holding her hand out, looking surprised and anxious. { _Maybe I'm finally getting through to her?_ } Xander moved slowly toward her.

"I love you, Willow."

"No! Stop!" She sent another magic blast at him, but this time it was so weak it barely affected him at all.

{ _It's working. I'm getting through to her!_ } Xander continued walking toward the dark witch. Black Magic Willow continued gesturing, but this time, nothing happened. Either she'd run out of juice, or he'd –

{ _Yeah. C'mon, Will. I_ _ **know**_ _the real you is still in there!_ } He could _**see**_ her start to get teary...

"I love you."

"Stop... "

She started to cry and, as Xander finally reached her, Black Magic Willow started hitting him with her fists. He knew better than to move or try to defend himself; so he just stood there and took it. After a few moments, she stopped hitting him and started to sob hopelessly. She fell to her knees and Xander knelt down with her, putting his arms around his best friend and holding her while Black Magic Willow cried and mourned the dead woman she loved.

The next moment, the blackness vanished from her eyes and hair and the black veins on her face disappeared – and finally, the real Willow Rosenberg was restored. Xander heaved a big sigh of relief as he held his sobbing best friend, but he said nothing.

He never noticed Whistler and Amy standing not far away from Proserpexa's temple, both of them invisible witnesses to the entire emotional show –

Later, though, as Xander escorted the semi-comatose Willow back to the ruins of the shop known as the Magic Box – he thought to himself wearily, { _Like Danny Glover always used to say – I'm getting too old for this shit..._ }

* * *

 _Friday, August 30, 2002 – somewhere in the Higher Realms; night:_

Cordelia was starting to get desperate.

She had been stuck in – well, she couldn't exactly call it 'limbo', but 'misty magic land' didn't quite qualify either – for months now. The boredom had quickly set in not long after her arrival; and sooner rather than later, she had called out to Skip, to the Powers, to everyone and anyone she could think of – even her old high school boyfriend, Xander Harris – but to no avail. No one could hear her or answer her. The only thing Cordelia could do here was watch the events taking place on the earthly realm, and indirectly intercede whenever she could.

Like making sure the destiny-less version of Angel, the vampire with a soul, shut down that stupid-ass futures trading scheme happening inside that Las Vegas casino. Making sure the twin sister of a prison guard in Stockton took over her dead brother's destiny properly. Making sure the evil fairy godmother got all the insurance money that was owed to her for the destruction of the Magic Box. Oh, and making sure that Xander didn't do anything stupid after Giles had taken Willow away to England, and the Doofus had witnessed his ex-fiancée getting her demon groove on again by granting various Wishes!

Damn it – this whole ascension gig had been _**nothing**_ like what Skip had promised her...

The next moment, Cordelia felt a... a presence appear close by. "Oh, thank God! Listen, whoever you are, can you please show me the way outta here? This has obviously been some sorta huge mistake, and I – "

The 'presence' suddenly enveloped her completely, invading her ruthlessly – and a moment later, Cordelia started screaming in agonized pain as both her body and mind were viciously raped by... something.

And unlike what had previously been meant to be – it took _**months**_ before the bad guy was able to force Cordelia's body to descend from the Higher Realms, even though it managed to get her memories suppressed almost immediately.

* * *

 _Sunday, November 10, 2002 –_ _attic of the Natural History Museum, Los Angeles; early evening:  
_

Cordelia was confused.

Less than a week ago, she had shown up inside the Hyperion Hotel with no memory of who she was; and she had quickly discovered that her life was... pretty complicated, to be perfectly honest. Hard as it had initially been to believe, she'd learned that she was a warrior and a demon fighter. That she lived in a world containing vampires and demons and super-powered people –

Including the human son of two vampires named Connor, whom she had decided to move in with while she attempted to get her life back in order.

Cursing her amnesia, and her inability to keep her hormones in check during their recent battle against the undead, Cordelia sat on the bed next to Connor. She sighed and said, "Look. About what happened... earlier. The non-CPR mouth-to-mouth _–_ "

Nodding eagerly, Connor interrupted, "When you kissed me."

Cordelia grimaced and replied, "Right. See, that's the thing; I shouldn't have."

Immediately looking confused and upset, Connor said, "But _–_ "

"Connor, I don't know who I _**am**_ , much less where I belong, or who with," Cordelia interrupted, looking miserable. "And there's a picture over there when you were a baby _–_ it's less than a year old. There's a lot I need to figure out. I'm sorry." Connor looked down, visibly upset as she added, "I'm gonna _–_ "

"You're gonna go back to _**him**_ _ **!**_ Aren't you?" Connor cut her off this time, jumping up angrily.

Cordelia stood up, shaking her head at the mention of Angel – Connor's father. "I just need some time to think, OK?" She walked out, leaving the furious-looking youth punching at the nearby support post in sheer frustration.

* * *

 _A while earlier – City Hall rooftop, Sunnydale;_ _early_ _evening:_

The First Evil examined the length and breadth of the Hellmouth, invisible and inaudible, as it contemplated its next move.

Ever since the mystical forces surrounding and protecting the Slayer line had become altered – vulnerable – it had put into motion a plan to exterminate all the potential Vampire Slayers in the world, before killing the two active Chosen Ones and then opening the Hell's Maw located in this town. Its reasons for doing this were many and varied; but in a nutshell, the First Evil really wanted to destroy this world which the so-called Elder Gods and Lesser Gods watched over so carefully.

This time last year, the First had thought its plans were foolproof –

But then, someone just _**had**_ to come along and create a better fool.

That half-demon annoyance currently calling himself Whistler – he had recruited that imbecilic witch a few months back, and convinced her not to give in to her desires for either suicide or evil megalomania. With the idiot girl's permission, he had gotten her clean of those addictive magicks, and then turned her into his personal assistant; helping to augment her powers significantly.

Whistler had also kept them moving around enough so that they couldn't be targeted properly. But that wasn't the real aggravation. No, the worst part was that Amy Madison had _**chosen**_ to let that Messenger for the Powers do what he did.

Free will.

The First metaphorically spat in annoyance. Humans had it, damn them, and there was nothing it could do about that... yet.

Luckily, most humans pissed it away along with the rest of their miserable existence, doing stupid shit of some kind or other. That so-called law firm, Wolfram & Hart, was an excellent example of that. Those damn fool lawyers sold their souls to that ancient dog, goat and deer just for temporary power and riches, here on the mortal plane?

The First pseudo-sighed. { _The Wolf, Ram and Hart are irrelevant. At least for now,_ } it cogitated to itself. { _That may change if that rogue Power actually succeeds in manifesting itself here in this realm, of course – but the other Powers will no doubt guide that undead moron, Angel, into taking care of the problem eventually. I have other business to concern myself with. Such as getting inside the mind of that newly souled vampire, and bending him to my will. Not to mention weaken and debilitate that resurrected Slayer as much as possible._ }

The First vanished from Sunnydale, and reappeared in Mexico. { _Plus, getting that trusting fool to return to the Hellmouth – and unleash the Turok-Han from their prison._ }

TBC...


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

 _Sunday, November 10, 2002 – garden of the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; early evening:_

Angel and Cordelia were sitting on the edge of the ornamental garden pool, but not too close together. The souled vampire turned slightly, half-facing her as Cordelia said, "We were friends. I know that. Not just from the pictures, but... and I know that's why you lied before – to protect me. Well, I-I staked a vampire today _–_ "

Angel looked at her, startled. "Connor took you-?"

Cordelia looked at him, and he immediately shut up. Then she said, "And what I realized is whoever I was before, I'm still _**her**_. _**She**_ didn't need protecting, and neither do I. So no more lies."

Angel nodded slowly. "All right. No more lies."

"OK. Because there's something I need to know." Cordelia looked at him searchingly, and asked, "Were we in love?"

Angel looked away. "Hrmm."

"Wow. That's an overwhelmingly decisive response," Cordelia said in sudden annoyance. "Were we?"

Looking back at her, Angel said, "What?"

"Were we in love?" Cordelia asked again, sounding exasperated. "Jeez. Is that such a hard question?"

"With each other?"

"Grrf!" Cordelia glared at him. "Mister, if you start giving me the run-around – "

Angel spread his hands and said fervently, "I'm _**not**_ _ **!**_ " He stood up, repeating himself, "I'm not."

"Then tell me the truth!"

"I don't know the truth!"

"You don't know?" Cordelia looked at him incredulously.

"Well, I'm not sure," Angel replied somewhat uncertainly.

"Now, I think that's the sort of thing _**I'd**_ remember. Hey, maybe you wrote it down somewhere – a note on the fridge, maybe?" she snarked.

"It's not that simple, Cordy! I had feelings for you, and thought that maybe you – but you never told me. You asked me to meet you... to talk, and... I never saw you again."

"And you think I wanted to meet you to tell you I was in love with you?" Cordelia said, looking at him searchingly.

"I really don't think you're ready to be dealing with – " Angel began to say, but she cut through the vampire's half-formed objections ruthlessly.

"Or _**maybe**_ I was gonna tell you to back off, buddy!" Cordelia stood and walked toward him, now looking suspicious. "Maybeyou were coming on too strong – harassing me in the workplace. Maybe I had a red-hot restraining order in my mitts." She moved up all the way into his face. "You ever think of that?"

Angel jerked back as if slapped. "Hey! I never – not in the workplace, I – well, there was that one time with the, the ballet and the stripping and the roundness, but that was a spell. And, and we were meeting in Malibu on the bluffs at night. That's a pretty romantic restraining order!"

"Don't yell at me. You're yelling at me," Cordelia said, turning her back to him.

"I'm not. See, this is why I don't want to answer questions I don't have the answers for," Angel semi-babbled. Cordelia rolled her eyes at him, and he winced. "All I know is that you are my dearest friend. And I hope that – I just – I want that back. That much, at least."

Cordelia sighed. "You have _**no**_ idea how much this is killing me." She sat back down by the pond. "I know my ABC's, my history, I know who's President, and that I sorta wish I didn't. I know the name of every shoe store in the Beverly Center, but I don't – " Sighing again, she started to weep, a single tear running down her right cheek. "I don't even recognize the sound of my own _**name**_."

"We'll get you back. No matter what." He sat back down beside her. "I promise you, we _**will**_ get you back," Angel said, his expression determined.

The anagogic demon named Lorne walked into the garden, holding an opaque ceramic bottle with a cork in the top. "Huh. What's all this 'we' stuff, pale face? I'm the one out there doing all the legwork – well, it's really more _lap_ work – 'cause guess what just fell into it."

* * *

 _Earlier that day – Stockton, California; early afternoon:_

Xander knew for a fact that he was nothaving the best weekend of his life. Actually, that was kind of an understatement. Up until now, kinda like back in May – he'd been having the weekend from _**hell**_.

First of all, his alarm hadn't gone off yesterday morning as he'd forgotten about having to work on Saturday; which had been merely the first of several major annoyances. Already running late, Xander had then been forced to take a cold shower because Spike (his unwanted undead roommate) had used up all the hot water. Yelling at the peroxide-blond British vampire for it hadn't accomplished anything, as Spike had simply retreated into his room, and he'd had to run out the front door while still buttoning his shirt rather than pursue the discussion.

Then his truck wouldn't start. Xander had been meaning to take a look at the alternator on his Ford F-250 – but he'd been so busy between handling issues that the subcontractors had left behind on the new Sunnydale High School, the new building contract for the new Sunnydale sports arena, and setting up the new job site for the Montecito Convention Center, that he'd kept putting it off.

End result: he'd been forced to make an emergency call to Willow (who had arrived home from England not long after the summer had ended) and repossess his Ford Taurus so he could get to work, and be able to do the rest of the running around he had lined up for Saturday and Sunday. Said act had irritated Willow no end, as she'd had plans that had evidently required a car.

Willow had _**not**_ been amused by Xander's observation that she should just use Buffy's Jeep Cherokee, as the Slayer's lack of anything resembling a driving skill meant the _**Buffster**_ wasn't gonna use it. Cue the "That's just mean!" comment, the five-minute argument that he absolutely couldn't afford, followed by Willow hanging up and dropping off the car and practically throwing the keys at him – when the infamous Resolve Face had failed to budge him.

One of these days, Xander had reflected, he was going to have to tell his best friend that the Resolve Face hadn't worked on him since the early sixth grade – he'd just humored her all these years.

One of these days, like _**after**_ Willow was well past the fuming stage from having a cheerfully inept Buffy and a terrified Dawn follow her to his apartment building in the Cherokee so that she could drop the Summers sisters off somewhere or other, before heading on her way. And then needing to interrupt whatever plans she'd had to pick them both up again later. Which meant that he could see forgiveness coming from that direction, probably around New Year's or later... maybe.

Somehow he'd managed to arrive at work only ten minutes late, but then his immediate superior at the construction firm of Turner and Peterson had called him up to bitch about his tardiness for like fifteen minutes, before he could finally get off the phone and shove himself out the office door and get to work. Only to find that his chief foreman, Tony, had called in sick with a case of the flu – leaving _**him**_ to oversee the ground crews. Which more or less meant doing the job of a site supervisor,instead of the Junior Assistant VP that he'd recently been promoted to.

He'd _**then**_ spent the early afternoon yesterday – working through lunch – dealing with various supply problems. Like a shipment of bolts that couldn't be used on the half-constructed building's steel girders – they were aluminum, and wouldn't even hold up to the stress of being screwed in. He'd subsequently ordered the right hardware – after cursing viciously, once he'd found out that the supply company had shipped the wrong ones – but nonetheless, work on that part of the Sunnydale sports arena project had had to be halted until they arrived. Xander's immediate boss had blamed him for not catching the error earlier, even if it wasn't _**his**_ fault the wrong screws had been shipped. And that had subsequently left him heading out later that afternoon to perform the more-than-aggravating task of straightening out the inventory of the company's heavy equipment for the new construction site.

By the end of the day he'd been tired, sweaty, extremely aggravated and every muscle in his body ached from sheer weariness. Despite a soothing immersion in his country and western CDs, the drive home through the Saturday evening traffic had added additional aggravation. And by the time he'd gotten home, the plan had been to collapse into bed and sleep until morning...

At least he had the satisfaction of suspecting that the Junior VP above him probably wasn't long for his position in the company. Neither Mr. Peterson nor Mr. Turner had much patience with executives who bitched at and blamed their underlings to cover their own management shortcomings. Both of the construction firm's partners liked, respected, and appreciated people who worked hard, built things, used their initiative, and solved problems. _**Neither**_ of them cared much for people who attempted to solve issues by placing blame over just getting the damned job done.

Anyway, whatever plans he'd had in mind for Saturday night – Dawn had been waiting in his apartment needing help with her trigonometry homework, once he got home. Because Buffy didn't have time (thanks to her nightly patrol, and her new job at the rebuilt Sunnydale High), Willow wasn't available, and Spike had been pretty much useless at providing the female teen with any sort of scholastic assistance.

(Well, he was over a century old, and there was that whole 'creature of the night' thing as well. So, just for once, Xander couldn't really blame the guy for being unable to help out.)

After a fast shower and a quick meal consisting of a few Pop-Tarts, Xander (who had never been too strong on math himself) had spent the next two hours trying to explain to the younger Summers sister about complementary angles and tangent functions and sine waves, which had sent him from very weary to utterly exhausted.

But now, it seemed, his luck was _**finally**_ turning better. Nothing, not even Spike's television habits, had prevented him from sleeping to a decent hour. By the time he'd woken up, the hot water heater had managed to replenish the supply enough for a decent shower. The Sunday morning traffic had been relatively light once he'd reached Solvang, and he had been able to make decent time heading north, following the coast to San Jose and Pleasanton; before heading east through Tracy, Lathrop and French Camp to his final destination.

Managing to find a parking spot in front of one of Stockton's coffee shops, Xander pulled the burgundy Ford Taurus into the lot and exited the car. Clicking the lock button on his key-chain fob, he worked his stiff shoulders, sighing heavily, before heading inside for a much-needed late lunch.

For a brief moment, the red hair, quirky grin, and cheerful expression of the young waitress who greeted him almost sent his mood plummeting again. She reminded him so much of the younger, much more innocent, and still well-adjusted Willow of his high school years that it hurt.

Still, the cute eighteen-year-old girl who served him a cup of coffee – her name tag read 'Marilyn' – gave him a smile full of dimples before leaving to attend to the rest of the coffee shop's patrons, brightening his mood again. Xander then drank his sugar-laden beverage gratefully, before taking a moment to enjoy his peaceful meal.

Naturally, the moment didn't last long.

{ _It's times like this that I really miss Anya,_ } Xander thought to himself sadly, looking around at all the various couples cuddling and chattering within the shop's various booths. { _I know it's totally over between us – hey, Ahn made that pretty damn clear, after those frat boys were brought back to life by D'Hoffryn – but I still miss her. Damn it, how pathetic is it that out of all the women I've ever been romantically involved with... one was a Preying Mantis Lady, one was an Inca Mummy Girl, one's an ex-demon, one's in jail for killing people, and the last one hasn't even spoken to me for the past three years?_ }

At that moment, Xander idly wondered where Cordelia was, and what she was up to...

If he'd been on the _**Hellmouth**_ , he'd have slapped himself for possibly jinxing himself that way. Since he was in Stockton instead, Xander figured he was safe enough. Or as safe as you ever got, anyway.

{ _No,_ } he then thought to himself. { _It's times like this that I really miss Cordy._ } The former cheerleader's self-absorption aside, it was nearly impossible to mope around her: between her sarcasm, her biting sense of humor, and her gorgeousness, she could always make him forget about himself like no one before or since. And it was impossible to be really depressed in the face of that million-dollar smile, or those sharp, hazel eyes.

If nothing else, his ex-girlfriend would have just have dope-slapped him and told him to quit whining and concentrate on _**her**_ problems. Xander found himself oddly grinning at the memory.

{ _What's really pathetic,_ }he then mused, { _is that Cordy's made more effort to keep in touch with_ _ **Willow**_ _than she has me, and she_ _ **hated**_ _Will_ _after the fluke. Even if I_ _did_ _manage to catch the bulk of the hatred fallout._ }

Oh well.

Finishing off his lunch, Xander took a big gulp of his Coke before taking his time with his chocolate milkshake dessert. Waving off the waitress's offer of a refill, he tossed some bills down for her tip and stood up.

Ten minutes later, he had made a quick trip to the restroom, gotten back into the car and driven off toward his next destination.

* * *

 _Many hours later – garden of the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; early evening:_

"What?" Cordelia said, examining the ceramic bottle Lorne had just given her curiously.

Smiling, the anagogic demon replied, "A memory spell – provided by one of my clients – that is guaranteed to bring our Cordy back to the way she was. That would be you, chickadee."

"Well, duh! Unless you have some _**other**_ amnesiac Cordy around here somewhere," she said flippantly.

Angel gave Lorne a skeptical look and a raised eyebrow. "Guaranteed?"

"Hey," Lorne said, spreading his hands. "No pain, no side-effects. I'm telling you, swingers, there's no _**way**_ this can fail."

* * *

 _A few hours later – Hacienda Residencial Casa Blanca, Mexico; night:_

Andrew Wells tossed and turned in his bed, caught in the middle of a nightmare.

"Desde abajo te devora. Desde abajo te devora!" a loud voice thundered inside his head, as he dreamed intensely:

 **The seal of Danzalthar.  
** **A girl with dark hair fleeing her pursuers.  
** **Creatures which kind of looked like Uruk-hai from** _ **Lord of The Rings**_ **climbing out of the ground.  
** **Another girl with dark hair fleeing her pursuers.  
** **Spike's ritualistically-cut body bleeding out, suspended from the ceiling.  
** **Jonathan and himself fleeing Sunnydale back in May.  
** **The Uruk-hai look-alikes attacking.  
** **Another girl fleeing her pursuers.  
** **A dark-haired girl being killed.  
** **The seal of Danzalthar starting to open.  
** **A group of hooded men murdering a teenage girl.  
** **The Uruk-hai look-alikes attacking.  
** **The seal of Danzalthar continuing to open.  
** **A dark-haired girl wounded and dying.  
** **A guy wearing glasses holding a platter of cheese.  
** **The Uruk-hai look-alikes attacking.  
** **Cheese slices laid out neatly in a row on a pedestal.  
** **A group of hooded men murdering a girl with pink hair.  
** **The Uruk-hai look-alikes attacking.  
** **The seal of Danzalthar opening, the points of the pentagram folding in.  
** **The Uruk-hai look-alikes attacking.  
** **A group of hooded men murdering yet another girl.  
** **The seal of Danzalthar opening, the pentagram folding inward, forming a pyramid that sank into the ground.**

Andrew woke up at the same time Jonathan Levinson did, a slight sheen of sweat visible on both their foreheads. { _Holy crap!_ }

"Oh my God. Oh my God," Jonathan wheezed. "Did you have the nightmare again? I had it again. That voice... "

"Desme abdo tay deborah. What does it mean? What does it mean?" he asked.

"Let's try looking it up again in the morning in the dictionario. Holy cats, that was terrifying," Jonathan said, before he got up out of the bed and headed for the bathroom.

Still upset, Andrew started singing to himself in bed. "La cucaracha. La cucaracha. La la la la la." Then he turned over, and saw the image of Warren Mears leaning over him. Even though his secret crush had been killed months ago, Andrew had no doubt that this was Warren returned as a ghost...

No other alternative was possible, at least not to his mind, after their recent conversation.

"Did you get the knife?" Warren demanded.

Andrew gasped, and got up out of bed. "Oh, gosh. I, I'm glad to see you!"

"Me, too," Warren replied. "Now did you, uh, did you get the knife?"

Andrew nodded. "Yeah. It wasn't easy. I had to meet this demon guy who sells all kinds of weird weapons and stuff."

Warren nodded. "OK, show me."

"Well, I didn't buy them, but there were some cool-looking poison arrows, and this sort of collapsible sword – "

"Show me the knife!" Warren snapped impatiently.

"Oh, right." Andrew chuckled briefly, before he bent down to get a box from under the bed.

"Quick, before Short Round comes back," Warren said, even more impatiently.

Andrew opened the box and took out a long knife, which had tiny writing on the blade. "Oh, he'll be a while. Guy's got a shy bladder." He called out, "Jonathan, you OK in there?"

"Don't talk to me. I'm fine!" Jonathan shouted back from within the bathroom.

Andrew turned back to face Warren. "See? Told ya. Now look, uh, the stabbing part of the plan – I don't, I don't think I can do it. Jonathan has been a good friend to me here in Mehico. He said he'll buy me a burro."

Warren shook his head. "Oh, you can stab him. It's easy. And I told you, that boy's blood is a powerful tribute. It's a gift to something very big, very important, and ultimately, it won't even hurt him. Plus, we get a reward. You and me – and him, too."

"We live as gods," Andrew said dreamily.

Warren nodded. "That's right. The Trio, living as gods. Just remember, there's power in that knife. Drive the words deep into him. It's the only way for us to get our reward."

Andrew nodded. "Got it. If I kill him with this knife, we live as gods."

Warren vanished, and pretty soon, Jonathan came out of the bathroom. It didn't take long for Andrew to convince his friend that they needed to go back to Sunnydale, and put the wrong things right. He still didn't like the stabbing part of the plan, but –

Andrew eventually convinced himself it was the right thing to do – indulging in a daydream where he, Warren and Jonathan were dressed in togas, playing harps and frolicking in a meadow of daisies, dancing and singing. { _We are as gods. Oh, we are as gods. We are as gods. We are as gods!_ }

TBC…

* * *

Wow, thanks for all the feedback and reviews so far; we really do appreciate it! OK, there's some stuff that needs to happen in this story, so we won't be seeing Jonathan and Andrew again for a while. There will be some world-building and character development. Oh, and in case you didn't spot it, the briefly-mentioned foreman 'Tony' isn't an OC; he was from the season 6 episode "Life Serial". Anyway, we hope you liked the chapter, and please don't be shy in telling us what you thought of it!


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

 _Sunday, November 10, 2002 – Northern California Women's Facility, Stockton, California; early afternoon:_

"Open up for 430019!"

Faith was lying on her bunk, reading a book from the prison library, when she heard the guard's request for her cell door to be opened. Getting up straightaway, she said to the black female guard (whose name was Edie Rhodes), "What's up?"

"You got a visitor."

Faith frowned. "Angel's here? At this time of day?"

"Never said that, Convict. You wanna see this guy or not?"

"What name did he give?" Faith couldn't help wondering if this was a Council plot of some sort. Sure, the Watchers had pretty much left her alone since she'd been jailed for murder-two; but the Chosen One figured that those old men in England might have finally gotten impatient for her to croak, in order for them get their hands on her successor.

"Name on the entrance sheet was Harris. Alexander Harris," Rhodes said, and Faith knew the other woman was bright enough to catch the brief flash of recognition on her face before she'd blanked her expression.

"All right, fine," Faith shrugged. She had no idea why that guy would be here to see her, but what the hell; it beat reading alone in her cell. So she followed Edie to the visitor area, and sat down at the glass-enclosed booth. The Chosen One waited for the guard to exit the visiting space and lock the door behind her.

Then Faith picked up the phone and said, "Long time no see, Xander."

"Yeah," Harris said into the receiver, staring at her as curiously as she was doing at him. Faith knew she probably looked a lot different to the last time he'd seen her – harder, and no longer as thin as she'd been when she'd woken from her coma. And older, naturally. "Over two and a half years." Inclining his head, he studied her for another moment and added, "You look different."

"Ha. As in, no longer looking like B?" Faith said, smirking a bit. She dropped the smirk when Xander gave her a tired glare and waved it off. "Sorry. So: there a reason for this little visit?" she asked, curiously.

"No, not really. Well, actually – yeah, kinda," Xander shook his head.

"Well, hey, that's decisive," Faith replied, starting to grin despite herself. "So, which is it? No not really, or yeah kinda?"

"Truth is, I'm not entirely sure why I'm here. Maybe I just needed someone to talk to." Xander sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, tousling it even more.

"So, what? You drove all the way to Stockton 'cause you were feeling _**lonely**_?" Faith gaped at her one-time lover.

"Not so much lonely as... disconnected," Xander shrugged. "Anyway. Yeah – there _**is**_ something I needed to fill you in on. But it can wait a bit, I guess."

"Best not wait too long," Faith warned him. "They don't exactly give us unlimited visiting time. Unless you put in a request for a conjugal?"

Harris started, then gave her a loud snort and head shake. He quirked a ghost of his old lopsided grin at her, waggling his eyebrows tiredly, before he said, "Oh, if only I'd thought of that, I would have."

"Oh yeah?" Faith smirked at him through the glass, leaning back in her chair. "Do tell."

"Hey, you have no idea how long it's been since... " Xander trailed off, shrugging, giving her a more genuine lopsided smile and another eyebrow waggle.

Throwing back her head, Faith laughed appreciatively. She replied, "Since you did the horizontal mamba with someone warm and oh-so-willing?" She gave him an eyebrow waggle of her own, adding, "Tellin' ya. Go conjugal next time – it'll do us _**both**_ a world of good."

"Tempting, very tempting," Xander replied, laughing quietly.

Waving her free hand down across her body, Faith snickered and said, "I'd be, like, all insulted, crushed, and heartbroken and shit if it wasn't. My ego would never recover." Shaking her head, the Slayer's expression became both serious and slightly speculative. "OK, so – I know why _**I've**_ been on the celibacy wagon. You?"

"You mean aside from the whole 'no one in the sighted community would date me' thing?" Harris asked, the lopsided smile turning a bit sour.

"Riggggght," Faith said, drawling the word out into way too many syllables.

Xander shrugged again. "Really haven't had the... interest, I guess you'd say, or even the offers, since my wedding blew up and I left my bride-to-be at the altar."

Faith gaped at him, then closed her mouth and said, "No shit? Really?"

"No shit, really."

"Damn, boy-toy." Quirking an eyebrow at him, Faith leaned back as far as the extension of the phone cord would allow and studied him.

{ _Huh. Older, 'natch,_ } Faith decided. Bigger shoulders and chest than way back when – guy had lost the lean build he'd had in high school and replaced it with some serious muscle along the way. Still with the laugh lines around the eyes, and the grin lines around the wide mouth. Still, bigger shoulders or not, Xander looked _**smaller**_ somehow... like he'd been ground down a bit.

No – _**tireder**_ , that was it. Just flat worn down by life.

Faith could relate. She knew the feeling. Shrugging, she finally nodded and said, "OK, so jokes and innuendo crap done with, shoot. I got _**some**_ time and a crap-load of burning curiosity and shit now."

"How much do you know about what's happened in Sunnydale since you left town?" Xander asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Practically nothing. Not like I get visitors from there. Sure, Angel visits me every so often; or he did before last summer, anyway. But even back then, I could tell he didn't keep in touch with the Hellmouth crowd anymore. Why? What's happened?" Faith asked curiously.

Xander let out what sounded like over half a decade's worth of a sigh. "Better question would be, what _**hasn't**_ happened... "

Almost spellbound, Faith listened as the man opposite her listed out the highlights of what had transpired since February 2000. Like the end of that cyber-demonoid, ADAM. The destruction of the Initiative base. Dracula. Being split into Cool Xander and Loser Xander. Buffy's boyfriend Riley leaving. Buffy's mother Joyce dying. Glory, Dawn and Buffy killing herself in order for her little sister to live –

"Heard about Joyce dying, and B taking the big swan dive, _**and**_ the Resurrection Blues," Faith said, holding up a hand to pause the rush of words. "Angel told me all about that." She sighed, and added, "Sucks, seriously. Liked Joyce, and she was pretty high on my list of people to try and make things right with."

Xander nodded. "Buffy's mother was good people. She was like a second mom to all of us, back then."

She nodded back, then... "So. Cool Xander, huh?" Faith said, starting to grin again. "Woulda liked to have seen that."

"A whole new thing to look at, huh?" Xander asked, his expression wry.

Faith laughed and shrugged, then considered the implications briefly. Two Xanders at once? Her eyes crossed momentarily at the mental images that presented themselves... Licking her lips slightly, she waggled her eyebrows. "Who said anything about _**looking**_ , stud? So, you guys still got that demon staff thing?"

For a moment he glared at her, then Xander's own eyes crossed briefly, and he snickered. "And here I was thinking you'd reformed."

Faith's eyebrows went up again as she stared at him. "Reformed ain't got nothing to do with it, boy-toy. Been stuck away from things of the male persuasion for over two years – don't begrudge a gal something to while away the lonely night time hours thinking about, hey?"

Shaking his head, Xander laughed, which caused her to arch her eyebrows higher. "Don't ever change, Faith."

"Hey, change is what it's all about, guy," Faith said, smirking. Motioning him to continue, she added, "So, you got the mike; finish playing the tune, Xan."

Listening as he ran through the Reader's Digest version of life on the Hellmouth over the past year and a half, Faith let him talk uninterrupted, just nodding or occasionally asking a question, or raising an eyebrow at some of the weirder or lamer stuff. After a while, though, she held up a hand to get a word in.

"Whoa. You mean Spike came back with a soul and shit? What – now that Fang started the trend, all the cool kids are doing it?"

Xander snickered, and then started to laugh in genuine humor. "I'll have to remember to ask him that," he said. "Just to see the look on Spike's face, and watch him huff up like a pissed-off cat."

Faith started laughing as well, "Yeah, gathered from Angel that there ain't no love lost between 'em. But still – you telling me that nobody dusted Spike's ass after that attempted rape thing? Or even tried to? B just let that shit go?"

Xander widened his eyes, put on a vacant expression, and said in a high-pitched feminine falsetto, "But he has a sooouuullll now!"

Faith laughed out loud, shaking her head. "Man. Exact quote from Buffy herself?"

"Damned near."

"Shit," Faith said shortly. "You got a shop vac, right? And he can't fight back 'cause of that chip or whatever. So _**s**_ _ **take**_ him and dump the ashes in the round file, dude. Give B a confused look and tell her the guy went out one night and never came back – dunno _**what**_ coulda happened."

Xander snickered again, "Sounds tempting, I gotta admit."

She shrugged and gave him a sour half-smile. "Hey, do what you want; but I actually ran into that vamp back when I was doing the whole wearing B's body thing, ya know? Shoulda staked him on general principles, but decided to get him all wound up instead. Lessee, I told him something along the lines of... "

Pausing for a moment, Faith searched through her memory before continuing, "Oh, yeah: told Spike I could ride him at a gallop until his legs buckled and his eyes rolled up. And something about having muscles he never even dreamed of and how I could squeeze him until he popped like a champagne cork, and he'd be begging me for just a little bit more... " she trailed off, shrugging again.

Xander stared at her for a few seconds, but then shook his head, starting to grin slightly. "Well," he said with a small shrug. "That'd get _**me**_ wound up all right." Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair again and said, "Anyway... I guess there's some other minor stuff which I haven't mentioned, but that's pretty much the gist of what our lives have been like since you turned yourself in."

Xander then leaned back, slouching in his chair. "And after the bad day I had yesterday, I was thinking I needed to talk to someone – and your name came up in my mind. And since I was on my way here anyway – "

"Why me?" Faith cut him off at once. "And why _**were**_ you heading here, anyway?"

"Which one you want me to answer first?" At her 'pick one' gesture, Xander shrugged and said, "Well, I kinda figured that someone should drop in and warn you that that First Evil thing seems to be back, and worse than ever. And since it seems to be targeting Buffy, I thought it'd make sense to warn you it might decide to take a whack at the other Slayer, too."

"Huh... First Evil... " Faith said musingly, giving him a puzzled look before her expression cleared up. "Wait – you mean that thing that fucked with Angel's head way back when, and tried to get him to either off B or go sunbathing?"

"Yup. That be the one." Xander nodded and added, "Thanks to all the 'From beneath you it devours' cracks that D'Hoffryn and a few others made, and some other stuff that's happened lately, we eventually figured out how that thing is what's constantly been showing up over the past three months – and messing with Buffy's head."

Faith arched her eyebrows and gave him a curious look. "So, concerned – or just wanting to make sure the Big Evil wasn't trying to recruit me?"

Xander sent her his best 'oh come on', look, but she held her ground and stared him down. After a long moment, that lopsided half-grin spread across his lips and Harris shrugged helplessly. "Six of one, half a dozen of the other, maybe?"

"'Least you're honest about it." Faith snickered, and nodded. "OK. I'll watch out for dead people showin' up and screwing with me," she decided, still nodding. "Thanks. So – the 'why me' now?"

Xander shrugged again, looking contemplative. "Why _**not**_ you? I mean, Joyce is dead. Giles is still in England – "

"Can't believe Jeeves actually took off and left B to put herself back together, after that whole 'dig yourself outta your grave' thing," Faith interrupted disgustedly.

"Yeah, me neither," Xander replied, nodding. "And I let him know it, too, before he took Willow to England at the start of last summer. But anyway, Dawn is still too young. Willow is still too damaged. Anya is still the woman I left at the altar. Buffy is still too different from before she was resurrected. Spike? I wouldn't turn to _**him**_ for a sympathetic or understanding ear, even if he was the only other person left on Earth. Cordy? Haven't really seen or talked to her for three years now, apart from when she briefly showed up for Joyce's funeral. And it's not like my work buddies know the truth about that part of my life, so – who? Who else knows the score and all the players?"

Faith simply looked at him, before she cocked her head and said, "What about Angel and the rest of his crew?"

"Huh?" Xander blinked at her.

"Fang and his gang of sidekicks, _**including**_ your ex-girlfriend," Faith said forcefully, examining him carefully. "Hey, Angel knows the score _**and**_ the team; plus, he's a good listener and he knows the whole 'messed up life' thing inside and out."

"Me and Dead Boy having a heart to heart?" Xander looked at her askance. "Oh, sure, I can see _**that**_ ending well. Especially since Lord of the Brood and I can barely stand to be in the same room together. Weasley the Watcher Wonder? Oh please. And like I said, Cordelia... "

"Totally hates your guts, 'cause you cheated on her way back when?"

"I dunno, Faith. I mean, we parted on OK terms up until the big last fight when I drove her to L.A., but I haven't really spoken with her since high school," Xander shrugged yet again. "When was the last time you talked with any of the people you went to school with?"

"Good point, seein' as I dropped out in ninth grade and never went back that decade, or ever." Faith had to give him that one. "But I dunno, Xander. It's not like I was ever best buds with the Prom Queen – "

"You can say that again. Cordy never really liked you, even when you were one of us," Xander interrupted.

" _ **But**_ ," Faith said, plowing right over the interruption, "as I remember it, you and the Cheerleader used to do the huge fight thing about once a day, followed by falling on each other's lips and heading for the nearest janitor closet. And while I may not know much about relationships, hell – even _**I**_ could tell there was more there than just lust and groping."

"That was a long time ago," Xander said tiredly. "Before Cordy found Willow and me swapping spit in that factory basement, and then she got impaled through the stomach by that rebar."

"Hey," Faith said, shrugging. "She apparently forgave you enough to let you drive her outta town."

"There's something extremely well-put about how you phrased that," Xander replied, looking at her askance again.

"It's a knack," Faith said, smirking. "So, you still haven't answered the question."

Xander gazed at her through the glass with a half-curious, half-critical appraisal. "You've changed, you know? I can tell."

"Changed how?"

"The Faith _**I**_ remember would have made at least a dozen dirty jokes and comments about sex, by this point. Not just the one or two. And by the way, don't think I've forgotten about that 'seven minutes' wisecrack," Xander told her with a slight scowl. "You remember, while you were pretending to be Buffy?"

"Yeah, yeah, moving along," Faith said uncomfortably. "I mean, getting back to you and Cordelia? You guys weren't just bitter ex's by the time I ended up in a coma, right?"

"I guess. Uh, there was that... incident during Senior Prom. And then we skipped fifth period together right before Graduation. And sixth. And seventh. But that was mostly 'oh my God we're both going to die tomorrow!' sex. And that one time after Graduation was – well, I dunno what really happened that night, how we ended up together that way," he admitted uncomfortably.

Faith smirked. "So, you gonna go talk to her? You need _**someone**_ that knows more about all these people and situations than me, Xander. _**And**_ a sympathetic ear."

"We _**a**_ _ **re**_ talking about the same Queen C, right?"

"You know, you _**can**_ quit being an obtuse jackass any time you want to, right?" Faith asked, staring him down again.

Xander glared back, but then sighed. "Yeah, so?"

" _ **So**_ , I think you ought to look Cordelia up and talk to her about all the crap you've been going through since high school ended. And before, maybe. And the sooner the better."

"Why?" Xander looked at her warily, like he was considering whether she might really still be nuts.

Faith sighed. "Because at some point, dipshit, you have to just _**stop**_. Hit pause, reassess, and get closure on all that stuff – or it all builds and builds, and then a valve goes pop on the old sanity pressure cooker, and you'll end up just like me." Faith saw Xander's raised eyebrows and added, "State-mandated therapy for the past two and a half years. A must for all the inmates. I know the jargon."

"Huh." Xander looked thoughtful for a moment. "Therapy. Sounds good. Maybe I can recommend it to Buffy, despite the bad experiences she's had with shrinks like Maggie Walsh."

"I wouldn't, if I were you. Hell, even if half of what I've heard is true, it'll only get B pissed off at you. Especially if you bring up her vampire lovers," Faith shook her head, wondering how the other Slayer had ended up preferring men without a pulse to those that did. { _Being pulled out of Heaven musta seriously screwed with her head or something..._ }

"Guess you're right." Xander sighed and shook his own head, adding, "Still, I'm not sure. Like I said, I haven't even seen Cordy since Joyce's memorial service – and even then, there wasn't exactly much with the talking. Uncomfortable for both of us."

"And you have exactly _**what**_ to lose by trying it?" Faith asked, bluntly. She stared at him until Xander squirmed uncomfortably under her gaze. "Go. Talk to her. Talk to _**someone**_ , jeez. Don't make me break outta here and kick your butt, fella!"

Faith suddenly saw the guard looking at her watch and gesturing that their time was almost up. Lasted longer than she'd expected, actually – Edie must've given them a bit more than the usual allotted.

Xander also got it, apparently. "Looks like I gotta go," he said, obviously using it as a means of sidestepping the whole 'talking to Cordelia' thing. Not a problem, in Faith's view: she'd handed him the ball, up to him to run with it... "And Faith, thanks for listening to me babble on about all that."

"No prob. Not like I had anything better to do," Faith shrugged yet again. "Thanks for the heads-up, guy."

"Yeah... " Xander paused and then added, "Not a problem, really."

"Sh'yeah, right. Almost a what, five hour drive or more, both ways? I'm thinking it's putting you out more than a little bit, boy-toy," Faith said, shaking her head.

Xander remained silent for a moment, looking uncomfortable. "Uh... damn it." He glanced down at his hand clenched on the counter, and then back up at her, looking her squarely in the eyes. "I gotta ask. Faith, was there... could I have done anything different? That night in your motel room, I mean? Or even afterwards?"

Faith blinked. Then she shook her head slowly. "Naw. Don't beat yourself up over that, Xan. I was already majorly on the downhill slide by then. Couldn't trust anyone enough for them to have made any difference, not in any way that mattered."

"Ah." Holding her gaze for a long moment, Xander nodded abruptly. "All right. What about now? As in: is there anything I can do for you _**now**_ _ **?**_ "

Faith shook her head again, feeling an unaccustomed tightness and warmth in her chest. Forcing a smirk on to her face, she tossed her hair to the side and said lightly, "I'm tellin **'** ya, make it a conjugal visit next time. Get our ungh on, relieve that pressure at the base of the skull and elsewhere... we'll _**both**_ get a world of good out of it."

"Pop like a pair of champagne corks?" Xander suggested, waggling his eyebrows.

"Oh, hell yeah," Faith said, laughing quietly and leaning forward. "What I promised Spike? That's _**nothin**_ _ **g**_ compared to what I'd give someone I actually gave a rat's ass about."

Xander laughed and shook his head slightly, letting it go. "Don't even, Faith. Besides, isn't that only for spouses?" he asked, his tone equally light.

Laughing, Faith shrugged and gave him an impish look. "Hey – common law husband. We shared like a domicile once, remember?"

"Vaguely, yeah," Xander admitted, laughing back quietly, but then he sobered up and looked at her seriously. "Faith, look – are you _**sure**_ you wanna stay here? I mean, Slayer, and if you're actually rehabilitated now... well, maybe it wouldn't be the worst idea imaginable if you busted out and came back – "

"No. I'm not going anywhere; because I _**killed**_ people, Xander. Maybe you were right that night I almost strangled you to death, and Finch was semi-accidental; but that Lester Wirth guy, I killed him just 'cause Wilkins asked. Not to mention what I did to you, to Wes, and a lot of other people – including Cordy. I made my choices, and now I gotta live with them," Faith said firmly.

"Twenty-five years to life, though?" Xander asked, as he got up.

"That's what you get for pissing off Wolfram & Hart," Faith said simply, pressing her hand against the glass for a moment and standing up as well. "And hey: thanks again for dropping by."

"You're welcome. And I mean that," Xander said sincerely. "G'bye, Faith."

"So long, Xander." Hesitating for a moment, Faith licked her lips, and added, "Hey," causing him to pause with the phone still to his ear and give her an inquiring look. "I kept the letters," she blurted out.

"Huh?"

"Both of them, the two you wrote me," Faith admitted, slowly turning red because hey, she was almost babbling in embarrassment here and she didn't _**do**_ that shit. "Never answered but I kept them, y'know?"

"Cool," Xander replied, nodding. "Good to know. Take care, Faith."

"Later, Xan."

Hanging up the phone, Faith turned slowly and faced the doorway, waiting quietly until the guard opened up and came in to get her.

On the way back to the cell block, Edie gave her a curious look and said, way too casually, "Good-looking guy. Yours?"

"Kinda, once," Faith admitted hesitantly. "Thanks for giving us a bit of extra there."

"Slow day, Convict. No skin off my nose for you to have a few more minutes."

Nodding, Faith said, "Yeah, well... thanks."

"Didn't know you _**had**_ a guy," Edie replied, still looking and sounding curious. "Other than your _**friend**_ , that night owl who used to come around 'n visit."

"What can I say? Not much on the whole sharing thing," Faith replied. "Common law husband," she added, smirking. "All estranged and shit now, though."

"Ah. Tell him to put in for a conjugal visit next time, then."

"Already did, yeah."

* * *

 _Many hours later – garden of the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; early evening:_

"I'm telling you, swingers, there's no _**way**_ this can fail."

Lorne didn't need to be anagogic to be able to read the skeptical look on Angel's face, before the souled vampire replied, "Really? 'Cause somehow, that phrase _**always**_ seems to precede, uh, what's the word I'm searching for? Oh yeah – failing."

"Oh, please, crumb-cake," Lorne replied, giving his undead friend a hurt look. "That jinxing thing – well, I won't say it never works, but not this time. This is the true goods here," he added, hefting the bottle after retrieving it from Cordelia's hands.

"You really think this will work?" Little Miss Memory Problems asked, her eyes searching his carefully.

"Certainly," Lorne nodded. "My contact – she deals in memory spells professionally. Now she swears up and down that with the right mix, we can stop all this talking and cut to the Cordelia Chase in two ticks of a... ticking thing."

"Watch?" Cordelia said, raising an eyebrow.

Lorne briefly pointed at her, smiling, and said, "That would do it, Princess."

Shaking his head, Angel gave him a still-dubious look. "I don't know," he said. "Spells... I don't trust them."

"Which is funny you should say that," Lorne replied meaningfully. "Considering how many you've used in the course of your work here."

Angel spread his hands, not being able to argue the point effectively.

"Well, I don't care," Cordelia said, standing. "I'm in."

Standing up as well, Angel said, "Cordy, I just – "

"I don't _**care**_ ," Cordelia cut him off at once. "Pain, side effects, this thing turns me into a moussaka... I'm happy. As long as I can _**remember**_ that I'm a moussaka."

"Don't even worry about it, sweetie," Lorne said reassuringly. "I've got all the ingredients lined up. As soon as we gather the six, we'll be good to go."

Lorne headed into the hotel, with Cordelia turning to follow him. He felt more than saw Angel blink, staring after them, before the vampire said: "Uh... the six what?"

* * *

 _A while later – the Hyperion Hotel, en route to Cordelia Chase's suite; early evening:_

Angel was, to say the least, a bit preoccupied.

Otherwise, he might have given a bit more thought to the social niceties than he was sometimes prone to do, even at the best of times. Namely, instead of simply barging into Cordelia's private room, he _**might**_ have knocked on the door and then waited outside for her to invite him in.

After all, just barging into her room without knocking _**wasn't**_ something that he would have done back when, say, the Groosalugg was her boyfriend.

However, at the moment, the social niceties were a bit far down the list of things on Angel's mind. Because all he could think about was that Cordelia had lost her memory – and that as part of the plan to 'fix' her, Lorne had asked Wesley to come to the hotel to participate in the magical ritual in question.

That was _**not**_ something that made him happy, given that he had tried to murder the ex-Watcher last year in a bout of grief-stricken rage – and Angel couldn't be entirely certain that Wes wouldn't try to return the favor at some point, despite how the British man had rescued him from his watery grave a few months ago.

So he simply pushed the door open and walked into Cordelia's room.

* * *

 _A moment later – Cordelia Chase's suite, Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; early evening:_

Cordelia saw Angel enter her room, just as she was stepping out of the bathroom and wrapping a towel around herself. "Oh!" she squeaked.

"Oh! I'm sorry," Angel said at once. He hastily turned around, averting his gaze as she frowned and finished wrapping the towel more securely around herself. "I didn't mean – "

"So," Cordelia interrupted him, "you're perfectly OK with just wandering into my room any old time. That fits the 'we were in love' theory _**and**_ the sexual harassment theory pretty much equally."

"I just – " Angel frowned, turning back around to face her. "There was no harassment, OK?"

"Oh?" Cordelia arched an eyebrow. "What about that stuff you mentioned about the ballet and the, uh, roundness?"

"Roundness, right... " Angel visibly jerked himself back from wherever his mind had gone and said hurriedly, "There was _**no**_ harassment, all right?"

"Which brings us back to the 'were we in love' question," Cordelia replied, nodding. "Or do you just wander into all the girls' rooms around here without knocking? Should I ask Fred?"

"No!" Angel practically growled. "No. I, ah, _**look**_ , I just came up to tell you that Lorne's almost ready for us to start, that memory spell and everything."

"Oh. All right," Cordelia said, nodding. Gesturing down at her towel-encased body, she added, "I just... I wanted to clean up a bit. Connor and I are not exactly staying at the Mondrian."

Angel blinked at the mention of his son. "How is he?" he asked, as neutrally as he could.

Snorting, Cordelia said, "He's eighteen. He's a mess." Going to her closet, she began rummaging through her outfits. "There's a _**lot**_ of pain in him. I think it helps, having me there."

"Good," Angel said, nodding. "That's good. Well, like I said, we're almost ready. So I'll be, uh, waiting downstairs." Turning away, he started to leave.

"Angel? You _**still**_ haven't answered my question," Cordelia said, stepping back from the closet, and turning slightly to face him. "The 'were we in love' one."

Angel sighed, again. "I've already given you the only answer I can, Cordy... hopefully, you'll get the answer for yourself soon," he said. Exiting the room, he pulled the door shut behind him.

"Alternately," Cordelia said aloud. "If I wait for _**you**_ to commit to an answer, I can open an ice-skating rink Down Below and make a fortune while I'm waiting. _**Men**_."

Sighing, she stepped back into her closet and chose a low-cut, long-sleeved dark blouse with a delicate floral print, and a pair of cream-colored slacks. After a moment, she also grabbed a complementary shoulder bag.

Getting dressed and finishing up with putting on her makeup, Cordelia set about transferring her wallet and personal items into the handbag she'd selected, before standing up to leave. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she took one last quick look around to make sure she wasn't forgetting anything.

Seeing nothing in particular, Cordelia exited the room as quickly as she could.

Time to get this show on the road...

TBC…

* * *

A/N: Hope you enjoyed the chapter and thanks again to everyone who's reviewed and sent feedback! It's greatly appreciated, as it does for us what linoleum does for  
Xander... okay, not quite, but it does make us happy! So please, keep it coming. OK, the stage is now set for us to get really stuck into the events of "Spin The Bottle", and see just how different it all could have turned out. Hope you stay tuned until next time!


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

 _Sunday, November 10, 2002 – Denny's diner, 611 Five Cities Drive, Pismo Beach; not long before sunset:_

Amy sat opposite Whistler, watching him eat a dinner meal that included pancakes, syrup, onion rings, bacon, fries and a pair of eggs sunny-side up. "How can you possibly eat all that?"

"Ees goof," the Messenger said with his mouth full of food. Amy felt slightly ill as her mentor then swallowed and said, "Besides, from this point onwards? Things are gonna get real busy, at least as far as I can foresee. Gotta stock up on carbs, fats and protein. You oughta eat something as well."

For some reason, that caused Amy to have a flashback to when she was going through the horrible withdrawal pains, after Rack had been killed – slaughtered – by Black Magic Willow. The Messenger for the Powers had practically _**forced**_ her to eat and drink properly, even while her body was flushing out the mystical toxins that Rack's dark magic had filled her up with.

{ _No. Forget it. Those memories are not worth contemplating any longer; and that part of my life is over and done with now, anyway._ } Amy took a moment to compose herself, before examining Whistler intently. "OK, when you say 'busy' – what exactly do you mean?"

Whistler gestured slightly with his head towards a nearby booth, and Amy was shocked to recognize her old Sunnydale High classmate – Xander Harris. The guy was eating alone, chewing on his barbecue burger with a thoughtful expression on his face. { _Huh. What he's doing here?_ }

"You're probably wondering what's going on," Whistler's voice attracted her attention. "Well, thing is, kid, to make a long story short – the Construction Worker over there, he's the focal point of a lot of things we need to do to restore the balance to what it should be."

"Xander?!" Amy briefly turned around to stare at the Slayerette in question, before facing Whistler again. "I don't get it; what makes him so special? I mean, yeah, that thing with Willow all those months ago, but – "

"But what? He's powerless? Useless? Irrelevant in the grand scheme of things?" Whistler interrupted, putting his knife and fork down. He smirked at her in a way that Amy instantly detested. "Kid, free piece of advice for ya – don't fall into that trap. All of that guy's friends and enemies have, at one point or another, and it's caused them all to underestimate and ignore him. Heck, if they'd just looked an inch beyond their noses? They'd know that this world woulda ended up in Hell multiple times, if Harris hadn't been there to save the day!"

"Meaning?"

"Oh, you want a history lesson? OK, sure," Whistler picked up a piece of bacon with his fingers and started to nibble at it. "The end of your sophomore year, the blondie Slayer was prophesized to end up dead. And she did, but nobody ever saw Unrequited Crush Boy coming; he brought her back with CPR after she drowned, and then that girl saved the world by kicking Heinrich's ass – "

"Heinrich?"

"Ancient vampire who liked to call himself the Master. Heh, that clown had like zero imagination," Whistler briefly chuckled. "Anyway, the year after that? Harris came up with the notion of using a rocket launcher against His Honor's blue tuchus –"

"His Honor?"

"My little nickname for the Judge, apocalypse demon who woulda killed every righteous person on the planet," Whistler shrugged, causing her to gasp in horror. "The year after that, Harris came through twice – first when he prevented the high school from going 'boom!' not long after Little Miss Psycho Slayer popped his cherry, and then that thing with Richard Wilkins' Ascension. Sure, you were Rat Girl by that point; but you musta heard about all that afterwards, right?"

"Yeah," Amy nodded once. "I heard."

"Well, maybe what you didn't hear is the year after that, Harris was the inspiration for that joining spell to vanquish that A.D.A.M. thing. Hadn't been for Carpenter Boy's 'if only' wisecrack, the Watcher wouldn't have thought of anything to counter that Frankenstein's monster reject; and _**that**_ woulda led to nothing but pure badness, not long afterwards. Sure, the year after that, Glorificus was a bit of a no-involvement for him; but Harris did come through with that wrecking ball when someone needed to knock that hell-bitch on her ass during the final battle, so I guess kudos to him for that. And a year or so later, of course, there was Kingman's Bluff and the Dark Wicca. Don't need me to go into details there, do you?"

"No, you don't," Amy said thickly, trying to clamp down on the immediate resentment where Willow was concerned.

"Thought not. Anyway, that's why Harris has got a bit of rep in certain circles. The one who sees everything. The Slayer's white knight. Even the whipping boy raised by mongrels. You remember his parents, right?"

"Vaguely," Amy shrugged. Then she looked at Whistler more carefully. She got the feeling there was something he knew which she didn't as she said, "Why do you ask?"

Whistler shrugged. "Different circumstances, those two coulda been your in-laws – and you'd be Amy Madison- _Harris_ by now."

"WHAT?!" Amy semi-shrieked incredulously, ignoring the brief looks from some of the diner patrons not far away.

The Messenger for the Powers chortled as he waited for her to calm down. Then he said, "Yup. You remember that _**memorable**_ Valentine's Day, right?"

She shuddered briefly. "Sure, but what's that got to do with anything?"

"Think about it, kid. Harris woulda backed off, if you hadn't let yourself be blackmailed into doing that botched love spell for him. He was hurting and pretty much judgment-impaired, but he would've eventually apologized to you for the whole attempted extortion thing, and then gotten over the Cheerleader dumping him like that. Hey; male teenager, plus lots of other fish in the sea who didn't think her friends were more important than her boyfriend. You woulda started looking at Harris all different-like, too, and ended up a fully-fledged member of that so-called Scooby Gang after he asked you to be his Prom date during junior year. The magic addiction and getting-turned-into-a-rat stuff wouldn't have happened either, what with that whole butterfly effect coming into play during your senior year. And sure, that Anyanka broad would still be gleefully killing unfaithful guys all over the world, but other than that – practically a happily-ever-after deal, you understand what I'm saying?"

"I... " Amy's brain couldn't focus enough to say more.

Whistler suddenly frowned and added, "Then again, takin' into account factors like Skippy and his current boss, probably not. Those two woulda done _**something**_ to split you two up before Harris gave you his heart, and reunited him with the May Queen – in order for him to betray her a year or so later. Pretty much like a bad soap opera, don'tcha think?"

Amy's mind was still trying to come to grips with the information overload. "I – you – "

"Well, either way, probably not much point in dwelling on might-have-been's," the Messenger interrupted her, before grabbing one of his fries and taking a big bite out of it. "Here and now, he don't feel that way about you and you don't feel that way about him. And we've got a job to do, kid – so probably best to focus on that."

"I suppose," Amy nodded slowly, briefly watching Xander walk out of the diner after finishing his meal. Attempting to put aside what she'd just heard, she said to Whistler, "Even though you've been pretty tight-lipped on all the details which that job entails, so far."

"Yup, I know. Needed to make sure nobody got wind of what we're gonna get up to. See, later on tonight we need to start distracting that Skip guy, not to mention – "

* * *

 _A while later – the main lobby of the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; early evening:_

Cordelia saw Lorne putting the finishing touches onto the large symbol painted on the lobby floor, as she came down the staircase. She saw everyone gathered around, but didn't say anything for the moment.

"Oh, great. Symbols on the floor," Charles Gunn spoke up, frowning. " _ **That's**_ always good."

"Check your sarcasm at the door, pouty britches," Lorne replied, looking up at the black guy. "This is for Cordy."

"What's for me?"

Standing, Lorne looked up at her. "All this," he said, gesturing at the spell diagram on the floor.

"Oh, goody, just what I always wanted," Cordelia nodded, laughing a bit nervously. "Does it come in teal?"

"It can come in polka dots as long as it don't open no weird portals," Gunn cut in before Lorne could reply, scowling. "I just don't want no more portals opening up around here. I've had enough of _**that**_ crap."

"Portals?" Cordelia frowned, pausing at the last step of the stairs. "There's a portal involved in this?"

"Sorry, Lorne," Fred said, ignoring her question and giving the green-skinned demon an apologetic look. "But we really have had enough of that crap."

"No, no portals, honey-cakes," Lorne said, smiling. "Just a handy-dandy little memory fixer-upper."

"Good," Cordelia said fervently, heading farther into the main lobby.

"Yeah," Gunn agreed with her. "Better not be anything like that, anyway. Don't wanna rain on Lorne's parade here, but – "

"Oh, hey, my parade is rain-proofed, buddy boy," Lorne said hurriedly. "I got me no doubts that this is the spell that's gonna bring our little Cordy right back to us. Lo-lath ch-owrng ne bruun."

Fred blinked, then smiled and replied, "Kaya-no-m'tek!"

Coming in through the front doors, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce frowned at the group. "Umm... did I miss the spell? Did the English go away already?"

"No, it's Pylean, crumpet," Lorne said, turning to face the new arrival. "I said, 'I may be prepared to shout a joyful chant.'"

Cordelia saw how Fred was staring at Wesley in wide-eyed surprise, in fact the other woman briefly looked shocked over his presence. After a moment, Fred licked her lips and told Wesley, "And I said, 'May your words please the gods.'"

Nodding, Wesley carefully examined Fred before saying, "Are you all right? Did you-?"

Fred shrugged nervously. "It's done."

Cordelia saw Gunn's eyes narrow significantly as his girlfriend and Wesley talked, noting the discomfort in their postures and body language. "So. We ready to get this show down Memory Lane, or what?" she asked, frowning as her gaze went from one to the other members of the group.

"Sure, Barbie," Gunn said, a bit absently. "Just give us a few to sort some stuff out."

* * *

 _A few moments later – the same place; early evening:_

Time suddenly stopped, as Amy and Whistler appeared out of the shadows near the stairs and headed towards Angel and his crew. The witch and the Messenger went straight for Lorne, and Whistler deftly plucked the ceramic bottle out of the anagogic demon's hands. "Here ya go, kid. Tell me what's what."

Amy held the bottle in her hands and closed her eyes. It briefly glowed with an amber light, before the light vanished and the witch opened her eyes again. "Yeah, it's just like you said it'd be. That Skip guy has definitely added something to the mix, and it's specifically geared for Cordelia's mind. I'm guessing that demon doesn't want her to remember – well, you know."

"Yeah, no need to remind me," Whistler sighed theatrically. "So, can you get rid of the unwanted extra?"

"Gimme a sec," Amy replied, frowning and staring at the ceramic bottle. Again, it glowed briefly with an amber light before she said, "Yeah, I think so."

"OK. Take your time, make sure it's done right." Whistler shrugged, gesturing towards all the frozen people around them. "Not like these mooks are going anywhere."

* * *

 _A short while later – the same place; early evening:_

All six of them – Lorne, Angel, Cordelia, Gunn, Fred, and Wesley – sat cross-legged in a circle around the symbol Lorne had painted upon the floor. The mystical diagram (a two-foot diameter circle with six evenly spaced three-foot spokes coming off of it) now had bundles of magical supplies in each section. All of them were holding hands as Lorne conducted the spell, with three lit white candles situated on each spoke of the circle.

"All right," Lorne said. "Eyes on the bottle. We come in supplication and hope. Bring her back."

The ceramic bottle began to move as Lorne intoned the spell, dancing in the middle of the circle.

"Bring her back," Lorne said, "I tell you once, twice, three times – bring her back!"

Suddenly, a burst of magical amber light streamed out of the bottle, with a stream heading for each person present. When the six streams of lights had connected, the bottle fell over and spun around madly within the center of the circle.

Blinking as the amber light encompassed her head, Cordelia said uncomprehendingly, "Wait! What's going on?"

"Uh... " Lorne groaned. "I feel a little... " Attempting to get to his feet, he stumbled and slipped back down before crawling away from the circle, and eventually collapsing behind the main counter.

"What's happening to us?" Gunn demanded, looking around in confusion.

One by one, all of them began to stand – only to stumble, slip back to their knees and crawl away from the spell diagram in all directions, before passing out.

* * *

 _A few minutes later – the same place; early evening:_

Finally, the amber glow faded from around their heads and the various members of the group began to awaken. The first to wake up, Gunn rolled over, braced himself on one hand and pushed himself first to his knees, and then to his feet.

"Oh... man," he said slowly. Gunn put a hand to his forehead, groaning. "I feel like the seventh day of a six-day tequila bash. What happened to me?" Looking around, he added, "And where am I?"

Seeing that he was apparently in the lobby of a hotel of some sort, he frowned at the sprawled forms of several people on the lobby floor. "Musta been some party. Nice-looking babes. Huh."

Spotting a display of weapons on one wall across the room, he brightened considerably. "Ooh – shiny!" Gunn smiled and wandered over to start examining the swords and axs.

He heard one of the women groan and turned to see her haul herself up to a sitting position. Then the brunette said with a distinctive Texan accent, "Oh... my head... "

Grabbing hold of the edge of a large potted plant next to her, the Texan woman pulled herself to her feet and stood up, swaying and looking around. "Wow. This is important. It's so beautiful... " she said, before suddenly bending over and puking into the plant.

Gunn grimaced, looking disgusted. That moment of distraction was why he never heard someone groan behind the furniture at the back of the lobby, near the rear doors leading deeper into the hotel. Why Gunn never saw Angel gripping his head with both hands. Why he never saw the vampire roll over and then back again, not even trying to get up. He never heard Angel fall asleep again with a slight snoring sound, either. He was too focused on the brunette spewing out the contents of her stomach –

{ _What the hell is going on here?_ } Gunn asked himself, as the woman finally managed to stop vomiting.

* * *

 _A moment later – the same place; early evening:_

On the other side of the room, some yards away, Wesley groaned and rolled over. Scowling, he felt around for his glasses, pulling his hand back hastily after it encountered something round and soft. Flushing bright red after realizing what that 'something' was, he stammered, "Oh! My. Dreadfully sorry... " and then he rolled over the other direction. After a moment, he managed to find his glasses and work himself up to his feet.

Luckily, the young woman with the obviously-dyed blond hair looked like she hadn't even registered the inadvertent breach of decorum. She groaned and sat up, blinking. "Ouch. Where... what... huh?"

Squeezing her eyes shut, she put a hand to her forehead. "OK... that's the last time _**I**_ do Jell-O shots."

"May I help you, Miss?" Wesley said, stepping over to her, swaying slightly. He extended a hand down to the woman in question, judging her to be an American by her accent.

"Ah... OK," the colonial frowned, but nonetheless accepted the hand and allowed Wesley to pull her to her feet. "Who... what... "

"I'm not certain," Wesley said, looking down at her. { _Who is this person?_ }

"OK. What's going on here?" the young woman scowled, backing away from him. "And who are... wait... I don't... "

Waving him off and turning, she staggered across the floor toward the center of the room, unknowingly stepping across the spell diagram. "Just... "

Wesley took a hesitant step toward her, his hand outstretched, and she half-turned to wave him off again. "Just, just stay back... "

Her foot hit a ceramic bottle and she stumbled, catching her balance – just as the woman's other foot came down squarely upon the bottle, and shattered it. There was a quick flash of amber light, and a cold wind whipped through the lobby for a moment. Magic swirled through the hotel lobby, wild and uncontrolled...

{ _What the bloody hell is_ _ **going on?**_ } Wesley asked himself in amazement, able to sense the magicks involved despite his lack of true magical proficiency.

The clumsy tart then abruptly straightened up. "OK. What the _**hell**_ is happening here?" she said again, demandingly this time.

Holding his hands out and wearing a reassuring expression, Wesley said, "What's your name?"

"Cordelia Chase, Dipstick," she said scathingly. "And what's it to you, anyway? Who the hell are you?"

"I, ah, I'm Wesley Wyndam-Pryce," he replied. Raising his hands, he attempted what he _**thought**_ would be a placating gesture. Unfortunately, bending his wrists to hold his hands palm outward caused an unseen mechanism to shoot a stake out from one sleeve, and another to extend a contraption that began unfolding into a sword.

"Ahhhh!" Miss Chase's eyes widened and she screamed, jumping back and away from him. "You – " Extending her arm, she pointed at him and said, "You just stay away from me. I _**see**_ what's going on here, now!"

Barely registering her words, Wesley jumped back, looking startled, and he stared down at his wrists. { _Good Lord, what-?_ }

"What's goin' on here, already?" a dark-skinned man said, running back into the center of the room and twirling a double-headed battle ax. "Hey! You all right, Miss?"

"No! I'm not – " Miss Chase snapped her head around to face the new arrival, then did a brief double take. "Well, _**hello**_ salty goodness!"

Flashing her a bright, toothy grin, the black man turned to face Wesley and scowled menacingly. "Hey, now – you leave this gal alone, y'hear?"

"I can assure you," Wesley replied, still examining his wrist weapons, "I have no intentions of harming her, or anyone else. Now, if I can just... "

"Oh, yeah, suuurrrreee," Miss Chase replied at once, her tone turning rather sarcastic and superior. "Like I haven't heard _**that**_ before! And then the roofies come out, and the next thing ya know? I'm waking up in chains, trapped in a basement and about to be fed to a snake demon!"

"Snake demon?" the black man turned his head to stare at her, his look one of fairly obvious confusion. "Whatchew talking about, Barbie?"

"My name's _**not**_ 'Barbie'!"

"OK, so who are you then?"

"I'm Cordelia Chase, Dumbass," the woman in question snapped at the black man, her eyes flashing dangerously. "And if this is some sort of nightmare like where I get doped up in a college frat house, or some kidnapping thing where you think you're going to cut my head off and attach it to the Bride of Bimbostein? Well, you got another think coming, buster! I'm from _**Sunnydale**_ , and I _**know**_ about stuff like this!"

{ _What on earth is she talking about?_ } Wesley asked himself in confusion. { _And is the woman even talking in English?_ }

"OK, now, just calm down, girl," the black man said, shaking his head. "I don't know what y'all are on about, but – "

"It's called kidnapping a _**minor**_ , Hair Club for Men," Miss Chase interrupted rudely, backing away from him and the black man. "And if you think for one _**second**_ that I'm gonna be putting up with this, well, you don't know Cordelia Chase! My parents are gonna be suing the entire population of Sunnydale. Or wherever this is. Comprendez?"

"Hey now! No need to be insulting the 'do," the black man said, scowling at her. "Ain't none of that going on here."

"Well... it could be," another female voice spoke up, this one with a distinct accent – Texan, if he guessed rightly.

Wesley (and everyone else) looked around to see the brunette walking up to them, wiping at her mouth with the back of one hand. "I mean – _**not**_ the frat house thing, but – it might be a government kidnapping for psychological experimentation and stuff, you know?"

"Oh, great," Miss Chase said in disgust. "Now we have the female version of Agent Mulder on the scene. So where's Scully, Little Miss The Truth Is Out There?"

"Hey!" the Texan woman snapped back at her, scowling. "I know about this stuff! I've read all about it!"

"What, in _Weekly World News_?" the black man asked facetiously, starting to grin at her.

"Well, yeah... " the dark-haired woman nodded enthusiastically. "And in other publications. Oh – has anyone got any weed? I could use a toke right now."

"This is just great," Miss Chase commented acerbically, rolling her eyes. "I've woken up with Cheech Marin, Shaft, and Lame Bond. Can my life possibly get any weirder?"

Finally figuring out his wrist mechanisms, Wesley managed to retract and fold away his sword and extendable stake – without cutting himself in the process. "Now, let's not be too hasty about discounting this woman's theory. I have heard of something similar – "

"Where? _Outer Limits Quarterly_?" Miss Chase cut him off at once. "Jeez. Not even _**Xander**_ is dumb enough to come up with something like that!"

"Who's Xander?" the Texan asked curiously.

"No, of course not," Wesley said, ignoring the other woman's question. "But – "

"My boyfriend. In Sunnydale," Miss Chase said in reply to the other woman's question, ignoring him completely. "And boy, is _**he**_ going to be pissed off when he finds out what's happened to me! He'll probably... "

"He'll probably what?" the black man asked, looking at her.

"Uh... " Miss Chase rolled her eyes. "Panic, and not do much else that's effective. Damn it. Oh! He'll get Buffy!"

"Buffy?" Wesley and the other two said in unison, staring at her.

"Yeah, Buffy!" Miss Chase replied, heatedly. "What's wrong with – OK, so it _**is**_ kind of a dumb name, but anyway... "

"OK, all right, hold it!" the black man interrupted hurriedly. "Time out! Whoa." Turning to Miss Chase, he pointed at her. "You, you're Cordelia something – Chase, I think y'all said – and you're from Sunnydale, right? Rich girl?"

"Well, yeah!" Miss Chase said, frowning at him. "I go to school there."

"Oh, really? I'm Fred," the brunette said, while patting herself down and digging through her pockets. "Fred Burkle. I go to school too, in San Antonio!"

"Oh, we're both in school. Well, gosh, let's be best friends so I can lose all my cool ones," Miss Chase said cuttingly, folding her arms across her chest and rolling her eyes.

"Now, there's no need to be snippety, Miss," Wesley said pompously.

"This is like a clarion call for snippety, Princess Charles," Miss Chase immediately fired back at him.

"It's Wesley, thank you. Wyndam-Pryce," he replied. Grabbing his lapels, he puffed up with pride before saying, "I am from southern Hampshire. In fact, I happen to be Head Boy at the Academy."

Miss Chase rolled her eyes again. "Gee, I wonder how you earned _**that**_ title!"

Wesley smirked at her, not getting the innuendo. "With a lot of effort, I don't mind saying."

"Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?" the black man asked, waggling his eyebrows. Miss Chase snickered, nodding.

"And who would you be?" Wesley demanded, scowling at him.

"Gunn."

"Where?" Wesley said, whirling around. His stake mechanism activated again, much to his annoyance.

Sighing heavily, the black man clarified, "My. _**Name**_. Is. Gunn. Me. That's my name. The short version. _**Charles**_ Gunn."

"Yes, well, now that we're all acquainted," Wesley said, ignoring the looks being sent in his direction.

"Yeah, great. We've all got names," Cordelia agreed, turning and walking toward the door. "I'm out of here. Bye now."

"Ah, Miss Chase?" Wesley asked. The woman paused and half turned back, and he continued, "Perhaps we should first determine where we are? And what's happened to us all?"

"Well... " Miss Chase said, her tone of voice grudging, "I'm just about convinced that you guys didn't kidnap me."

"Someone sure did," Miss Burkle said, searching through her pockets again.

"I mean, as far as I can tell," Miss Chase added, ignoring that, "you people are more the Hair Bear Bunch than members of the Manson family."

"Hey!" Mr. Gunn said, giving her an insulted look.

Shaking his head, Wesley said, "I wouldn't be so quick to leave, Miss Chase. Clearly, we're all victims of some nefarious scheme."

The woman smiled brightly at him and said, "Well, duh!" Mr. Gunn snickered, grinning at her.

"So before we do anything, I suggest we gather as much information as we can," Wesley said, deliberately ignoring their mocking.

Miss Chase rolled her eyes yet again. "And _**I**_ suggest we simply call the cops."

"Yo... I don't want no heat near me," Mr. Gunn said at once, shaking his head.

"I don't think we should call the police, anyhow," Miss Burkle added worriedly.

"Well of course _**you**_ don't, Miss Felony User," Miss Chase replied, caustically.

"Oh, please. Under an ounce is a misdemeanor," Miss Burkle said dismissively. She shook her head again, "No – I mean, they're probably involved."

"In what?" Mr. Gunn demanded, scowling.

"Hey!" Miss Burkle said loudly, staring earnestly at all of them. "Don't y'all think this is maybe some kind of government conspiracy? 'Cause according to my friend, Levon, the government's always taking kids and experimenting on 'em. I – "

"Kids? One moment – Miss Burkle, exactly how old are you?" Wesley interrupted, frowning.

"Seventeen," the brunette replied, looking confused.

"So am I," Mr. Gunn frowned.

"Myself as well," Wes said, looking around at the others.

"Really? 'Cause none of you look it," Miss Chase scowled. "But yeah, for the record – me too."

Miss Burkle quickly brushed that aside. "Anyway, did anybody else have to take a personality disorder test recently? They ask you about politics and your bowel movements and if you want to be a florist – "

"I took that test. On Career Day. It's a _**vocational**_ aptitude test," Miss Chase cut her off, looking annoyed and fed up. "And now that we've heard from Scarlett O'PleaseShutMeUp, does anyone _**sane**_ have a theory?"

"There are conspiracies and stuff," Miss Burkle muttered indignantly. "Y'all don't even know... "

Mr. Gunn shrugged. "I got no problem with the idea that the Man is messing with us."

"The important thing is to start with the facts," Wesley insisted.

"Yeah?" Arching her eyebrows, Miss Chase gave him a skeptical look. "So fact me, Head Boy Guy."

Snickering, Mr. Gunn said, "Hey, now – don't be giving him no ideas, Barbie."

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Hair Club," Cordelia replied, briefly snickering back at him.

"No." Wesley puffed himself up again. "Seriously – we're all from different cities and even a different country in my case, we're all of a similar age... " Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he added, "And judging from the amount of facial hair I've grown, we've all been unconscious for at least a month."

"Hrmm."

Looking a bit heartened by Miss Chase's frown and the others' attention, Wesley grew a bit more confident. "We have weapons," he said, pointing at Mr. Gunn's ax. "Including a stake among mine, which is generally used for – "

"Staking vampires, right, right," Miss Chase cut him off, gesturing impatiently.

"Vampires?" Miss Burkle blinked owlishly at her. "Oh, come on... "

"No, no, she's absolutely correct," Wesley said, nodding. "All right. I'm going to let you all in on something you may have trouble comprehending. I can assure you, however, that – "

"Vampires are real," Mr. Gunn spoke up, stealing his thunder.

Grinning, Miss Chase tapped her nose and pointed at the black man. "Got it in one, Salty."

"I was telling this!" Wesley said petulantly.

"Vampires are all over L.A. I've been fighting 'em since I was twelve," Mr. Gunn said, shrugging and ignoring him.

"Me too," Miss Chase said, nodding. "Well, since I was sixteen, anyway. I drove my _**car**_ over a bunch of them last year. And hey, did I get yelled at for crashing it into the school!"

"You hit the side of the school?" Miss Burkle asked, her eyebrows going up.

"No. _**Into**_ the high school," Miss Chase clarified impatiently. "Inside. To get away from the vampires."

"Hey, now," Mr. Gunn said, admiringly. "That's stylin'."

"Well, then, now that we've established that most of us are aware of the real world," Wesley said, unable to help it as an annoyingly petulant tone crept into his voice. "As I was saying, we have weapons suitable for vampire slaying, and I'll lay odds that the front door is bolted shut. And who knows what peril lies outside it?"

"Again," Miss Chase said, looking annoyed. "Duh! It might even be something hideous, like – _**traffic!**_ "

"You jest," Wesley replied, scowling. "However, I can assure you that there _**are**_ stories at the Academy of a test. A secret gauntlet which only the most cunning can survive. You're locked up in a house with a vicious, deadly – "

"Vampire!" Miss Chase abruptly yelled, pointing.

"Well, yes, as I was say – "

"No!" Miss Chase jumped behind Mr. Gunn and leaned out from around the black man, gesturing emphatically at someone standing behind him. Then Wesley heard the annoying chit yell, "Vampire! _**Vampire**_ , you _**idiot!**_ "

TBC…

* * *

A/N: Duh-duh-duh-dah-dum! Who do you think the mystery vampire is? Angel, or someone else? We're in seriously AU territory from this point onwards, folks, so don't talk anything for granted.

And we have to admit, part of this chapter was a response to a post on Television Without Pity way back when - WHY didn't Cordelia remember anything about vampires and demon during the events of "Spin The Bottle"? Why did she revert to the mindset of a clueless sophomore from her pre-Marcie Ross days, while everyone else was at least seventeen years old? Sure, you could argue that the writers screwed up, or the future plot arc for Jasmine/the Beastmaster demanded it, but still.

Anyway, we hope you enjoyed the chapter; and whether you did or not, please tell us what you thought of the latest developments!


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

 _Sunday, November 10, 2002 – the main lobby of the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; early evening:_

Wesley saw Mr. Gunn whirl in the direction which Miss Chase was pointing, bringing his double-bladed ax to a ready position – and inadvertently hauling the woman around with him, as she clutched onto his jacket.

He spun around as well, his mouth falling open as he beheld –

– a tall, dark-haired man in his mid to late twenties standing from behind the sofa at that end of the lobby, propping himself up with one hand while the other clutched at his forehead.

"Would someone please shut up that horrible noise?" the dark-haired man demanded, in a rather thick Irish accent. "Fer the love o' God – she's worse than me father in the morning after a three-day bender, she is."

"Hey!" Miss Chase shouted, straightening indignantly. "Don't call _**me**_ horrible, you-you fish murderer, you!"

"I thought you said there was a va – " Mr. Gunn began to say.

"It's _**him**_ , moron!" Miss Chase immediately shouted, tugging at Mr. Gunn's jacket and jabbing her index finger violently at the Irishman. "Him! Angel! _**He's**_ a vampire!"

"Him?" Miss Burkle and Mr. Gunn said in unison, looking from her to the obviously puzzled and incredulous dark-haired man.

"Him! Him, damn it!" Miss Chase yelled. "That's Angel. He's a vicious killer! He's been terrorizing us for months; killing Miss Calendar, murdering Willow's fish, threatening Xander, sleeping with Buffy... "

"Och. I don't be knowing what the wench is talkin' about," the Irishman said, scowling. "Me name is _**Liam**_. And I've never killed anyone; well, other than a few tall soldiers of Jameson's here and there – "

"See? He admits it!" Miss Chase semi-yelled.

"Ah, uh," Wesley said, feeling somewhat annoyed over the American woman's lack of knowledge. "Jameson's is a brand of Irish whiskey... "

"Ye got that right, ye Sassenach," Angel, or Liam, or whatever his name was, nodded. "Nothing fer me but the finest, that and Bushmills."

"Oh," Miss Chase said, briefly looking uncomfortable. "Right. I knew that." Scowling fiercely, she stamped her foot. "Still! I _**know**_ what I'm talking about, damn it! He, he's probably the one that kidnapped and dragged us here, to... to torture, murder, and rape us or something. I'll bet that his minions are around somewhere as well, hiding – to pounce on us when we least expect it!"

"Hey! I've ne'er been a rapist in all me born days," the Irishman said, straightening indignantly. "The wenches 'ave _**always**_ been happy to give themselves over fer the pleasure of it." Stalking around the back of the couch, he rounded the end table, and slowly approached the others. "It's not certain I am what yer on about, Miss, but ye should have a care spreading such vile slander about a gentleman like meself!"

"Eep!" Miss Chase said, shrinking back behind Mr. Gunn as Angel/Liam approached. Miss Burkle carefully backed away from everyone as well.

"Hey, now," Mr. Gunn said to the Irishman, stepping forward. "Just back off, already. The gal's afraid of you, and I don't know that she ain't right to be."

"Please," Wesley spoke up, stepping between Angel/Liam and Mr. Gunn. "Let's all just be calm. Sir, whoever you are, the young woman is merely a bit distraught."

"I'll not be caring if it's a fit of the vapors she's having," Angel/Liam replied. "Just so long as she stops screamin' like a fishwife at me."

"Fishwife?! Why, you-!" Miss Chase straightened up behind Mr. Gunn, now looking infuriated. She then demanded, "Gimme that stake, Head Cheese!"

"Now, please calm down Miss Chase, and allow me to deal with this," Wesley said, a bit pompously. Carefully, he approached the Irishman, his left hand in his pocket and his right hand held outstretched. "I'm Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, and you are?"

"Liam, as I said, ye British fop. Of Galway. And it's thinking you're all mad, I am."

"Ah. Liam of Galway. I take it you're definitely Irish then, my friend?"

"No, I'm a bloody Norseman instead. And I'm _**not**_ yer friend, ye English pig," Liam said, sneering at the outstretched hand. "We never wanted you in Ireland. We don't want you here either, wherever here is."

"Well, I certainly can't blame you for not wanting to be friends, what with all that's happened between our respective countries," Wesley said, stepping forward. "But my _**real**_ question is – "

Whipping his left hand out of his pocket, he shoved a wooden cross into the other man's face. "Are you indeed a vampire?"

Shocked and surprised, Liam jerked back and away from Wesley's outstretched hand and the cross in it. The man's eyes suddenly turned yellow, his face contorted, growing a ridged brow and his suddenly-outslung mouth grew large fangs as he snarled and growled.

"Aha!" Wesley cried out. Well, actually, it sounded a lot closer to, "Auughhh!"

Flinching back from the suddenly demonic-looking Liam, Wesley stumbled and accidentally triggered the sword mechanism in his right sleeve, causing the vampire to jump back in surprise.

"Holy shit! Barbie was right all along!" Mr. Gunn said in amazement. Bringing back his ax, the black man lunged forward, intending to rush past him as Wes attempted to maintain his balance.

"Oh, bogshite!" Yellow eyes widening, Liam (or whatever the vampire's name really was) jumped forward, ducking under the flailing blade, and then grabbing Wesley by the wrist of his sword arm and the belt. Lifting him easily, the vampire then threw him into the path of the onrushing Mr. Gunn.

Miss Chase screamed as both he and Mr. Gunn went down in a tangle of flailing limbs, foul curses, flashing sword, and glittering ax. And then, perhaps unsurprisingly, Miss Burkle joined in with a high-pitched shriek of her own.

Miss Chase screamed again as Liam shot a molten, yellow-eyed – and pained-looking – glare in her direction, and bared his fangs at her. Giving voice to another full-throated scream, the annoying young woman spun around and bolted for the front doors of the hotel, just as Mr. Gunn and himself began cursing and trying to untangle themselves.

Yanking the doors open, Miss Chase hurled herself out into the night, away from the abattoir Wesley was half-convinced that the hotel lobby would soon become.

The vampire gazed after the recently departed woman, his yellow eyes narrowed. "Healthy set o' lungs on that wench," he said musingly. "Saints preserve us. A voice like that could peel barnacles off of a schooner... "

Another scream from the other side of the lobby made the vampire wince. A moment thereafter, a lamp sailing close by Liam's head drew a bigger wince and a flinch. And then a hasty dodge as a heavy glass ashtray nearly beaned him in the forehead.

"Hey! Stop that, ye shrill-voiced harpy!" Jumping back, the vampire glared at Miss Burkle, who was engaged in frantically searching for something else to throw.

"Get _**off**_ of me, English!" Mr. Gunn roared.

"I'm trying," Wesley said, apologetically. "Ah, please – _**do**_ watch the arm. There's no, ah, telling what it'll – "

"Hey! Watch that sword!"

"I will if you'll be careful with that bloody – ow!"

Smirking, Liam grinned down at them. "Better than puppet theater, this is," the vampire said, shaking his head. "Ow!" The vampire stumbled back as a small vase shattered on his head. "Damnation – a hell of an arm it is, that woman's having... "

Finding a bonanza in a row of bric-a-brac along a side table, Miss Burkle began a steady rain of projectiles at the vampire while screaming, "Get out get out _**get**_ _**out!**_ " at the top of her lungs.

"I'm going- I'm- just- stop- quit that- damn it, enough, woman!" Liam shouted angrily, backing away.

"Ow! Friggin'... " Finally disentangling himself from Wesley, a rather murderous-looking Mr. Gunn rose to his feet a bit unsteadily, gripping his battle ax while clutching his, ah, fundament with his other hand. Unfortunately, it was Wesley himself whom the black man was glaring at murderously, instead of the vampire... Drawing back his foot, Mr. Gunn booted him a bit viciously in the stomach.

"Oof!"

"Told ya to watch that sword, Eugene," Mr. Gunn said, before raising his head. Tracking his gaze across the lobby, he fixed upon the alarmed-looking Liam –

Right about the time that a small porcelain horse shattered on the back of Mr. Gunn's head.

"OW! Damn it!" the black man cursed at Miss Burkle, turning to glare at her.

"Sorry!" the Texan woman apologized frantically. "My aim kinda sucks right now!"

Shooting Miss Burkle an equally murderous glance to the one he himself had gotten, Wesley saw Mr. Gunn's free hand release his backside to rub at the back of his head, wincing. Quickly fixing his gaze back on the vampire, the black man hefted the ax again. "All right, bloodsucker. Let's dance."

"Finnegan's freezing hell," Liam cursed, before turning around and bolting for the rear doors of the lobby.

Growling under his breath, Mr. Gunn started after him; but luckily, Wesley managed to lunge across the floor and grab him by the pants leg. "Wait!"

"Oof!" With a muttered curse, the limping and unbalanced Mr. Gunn immediately fell and sprawled out across the floor. "Damn it! I'm _**warning**_ you, English... "

"No, seriously, wait!" Wesley gasped out, scrambling away from Mr. Gunn and clambering shakily to his feet.

"For _**what**_ _ **?**_ That vamp to dust himself?"

"Hey, wait a minute!" Miss Burkle said, looking alarmed. "That Cordelia girl, she ran out the front door!"

"First smart thing anyone's done 'round here so far," Mr. Gunn replied, rolling onto his feet; only to sink back into a crouch, groaning. "Damned pain in the ass sword... "

Holding out his non-sword hand, Wesley helped Mr. Gunn to his feet after the other man grabbed it. Carefully folding his sword back up, Wesley clutched at Mr. Gunn's sleeve as the black man started off again. "Seriously, wait, please. There's something I need to explain."

"Man... this _**better**_ be good," Mr. Gunn said, with his eyes narrowing.

"Angel – Miss Chase, she called that vampire _**Angel**_ ," Wesley said, looking around, and then stepping over to retrieve his cross from the nearby floor.

"Yeah? So?"

"Guys?" Miss Burkle said, only to be ignored.

"And he called himself 'Liam'," Wesley added, his own eyes narrowing.

"Again, so?" Mr. Gunn demanded.

"Liam of Galway," Wesley said, trying to remember all that he knew from his studies at the Academy. "Killed in 1753 by an old and vicious undead disciple of the Master named Darla. She turned him, and then when Liam rose, that vampire killed his entire family, and then nearly his entire village."

"Sounds like a typical vamp to me," Mr. Gunn said, nodding.

"Guys!" Miss Burkle said urgently, only to be ignored again.

"No! Not just _**any**_ vampire, my friend," Wesley said, his voice now carrying a distinct note of excitement. "The deadliest and most vicious vampire in recent history! Liam of Galway renamed himself 'Angelus' – like Miss Chase hinted at, 'Angel' for short. And for a hundred and fifty years he tortured, slaughtered, and raped his way across Ireland, Britain, and the entire European continent. Do you know what this means?"

"Means you're not gonna let me go after that vamp and make him all dusty, 'cause you think I can't take him?" Mr. Gunn asked, his eyes narrowing even more.

"No!" Wesley shook his head, his eyes shining. "I mean, yes, under normal circumstances, I would advocate doing just that. Angelus is a lot more dangerous than your average master vampire – but from the way he was acting just now, it's obvious he has no idea who he is, or what's going on. Otherwise, we'd all be dead right now! Perhaps he's suffering from temporary amnesia, or is under a spell of some sort? Well, whatever the reason, it means that together, _**we**_ have a chance to go down in the annals of Watcher's Council history as the men who finally put an end to the Scourge of Europe!"

"Well, we'd best be gettin' on with it, then," Mr. Gunn said, shrugging. "'Cause we ain't getting no younger, and that vamp ain't gettin' no closer to us."

"Ah, yes, quite," Wesley said, nodding. Flipping up his left wrist and extending his stake, he squared his shoulders and jutted out his chin. "Let's be off, then. The game is afoot!"

"Yeah, let's do this," Gunn nodded himself – striding, or rather limping, toward the exit that the vampire had vanished through. "And hey, now that I'm thinking on it – where the hell is my sister Alonna, anyway?"

"Guys!" Miss Burkle said pleadingly, gazing after the vanishing pair.

Still ignoring her, Wesley headed out the rear doors of the lobby, followed by the limping Mr. Gunn.

"Well, Feigenbaum's balls," Miss Burkle cursed, looking around uncertainly. "I guess at least one of us oughta go look for that Cordelia girl... "

Wesley stopped for a moment, as he heard the brunette slam the front door of the hotel shut behind her.

{ _Americans,_ } Wesley thought disdainfully to himself, before turning around again and following after Mr. Gunn.

* * *

 _A few moments later – the same place; early evening:_

"Sheesh. Thought those clowns would _**never**_ get their act together and hit the road, already," Whistler said grouchily, stepping out of a patch of shadow at one side of the lobby.

Amy stepped out of the shadows as well. "Well, it may have taken a while – but it all worked out like you said it would, didn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess. Even with Skip's unwanted extra gone – that memory spell still went off the rails, just like I knew it would. Still, I wasn't expecting that annoying Irish accent... " Sighing, he looked around with a disgusted expression. "And before you say anything, fine – I'll admit it's not completely Greenie's fault. If it wasn't for the goddamned bosses not paying attention and policing their own – ow!"

Rolling his eyes, Whistler winced in brief pain. Whipping off his hat, he pinched the bridge of his nose before looking upward with a scowl. "Yeah, yeah. _**Now**_ you guys are paying attention. Many pardons for my fucking French, yadda yadda yadda."

Amy smirked at him. "Just for the record? You probably wouldn't get that sort of response if you enrolled into a good anger management class, or whatever."

"Yeah, sure, kid. Whatever you say." Settling his hat back firmly on his head, the Messenger strolled over to the spell diagram, before he knelt down and began picking up all of the pieces of the shattered ceramic spell bottle. Placing all of them into a handkerchief he took out from the inside pocket of his jacket, he carefully folded them up and stood up again.

Shaking his head again, Whistler looked around. "OK. Now, where's... ah. There."

Wandering over to the counter, he headed around one end and stood there for a moment, looking down upon a passed-out Lorne. "Sorry, Greenie. Yer a nice guy and all, but we _**don't**_ need you mucking up the works too early. So – "

He gave her the handkerchief. Unfolding it, Amy took out a shard of the bottle holding the spell mixture. After a moment, it began to glow with that characteristic amber light.

A moment later, the light shot away to strike Lorne in the forehead, enveloping his head momentarily before sinking into it and vanishing.

"Sweet dreams and enjoy the lack of memory, kiddo," Whistler said sympathetically. "Heh. I wonder what bein' a teenager in Pylea is like?"

"Myself, I don't even _**want**_ to know," Amy replied, with a visible shudder. "That dimension sounds like an absolute nightmare to me, even lacking the usual fire and brimstone thing!"

She then put the shard back into the handkerchief, and then waved her hand over the mess. After another bright flash of amber light, the ceramic bottle was suddenly reassembled in her hand. "You want this?"

Nodding, Whistler took both items from her. Wrapping the now-whole bottle in the kerchief, he put the bundle into one of his jacket pockets. Then he said, "Oh! Almost forgot... "

Amy followed Whistler as he went over to the detective agency's answering machine. He fiddled with it for a while, effectively disabling it – but without any external indications that no one could now leave any phone messages for Angel Investigations. { _Ought to just rip it out and take it with us, if you ask me. But I'm assuming Whistler has his reasons for doing it this way._ }

"OK... one more stop to make, and then we'll have this show on the road properly," the Messenger muttered.

"What stop is that?" Amy wanted to know.

"You'll find out, kid. C'mon." Turning away from the counter, Whistler escorted her over to a patch of shadows by the staircase, and they both promptly vanished into the darkness.

* * *

 _Many hours earlier – outside Takkens Shoes, Stockton; early afternoon:_

Xander basically had no idea why he'd stopped outside the shoe store, or why he subsequently went in and bought a pair of women's shoes. Ones that weren't even his size, had he been a cross-dresser; which he wasn't.

{ _OK, why the hell did I just spend all this money on something I'm never even gonna use?_ } he asked himself in confusion, as he exited the shoe store with his purchase. { _And why am I getting the creepiest feeling that it'd be a_ _ **really**_ _bad idea to go back in there and ask for a refund? Damn it, this isn't the Hellmouth! Can't I escape its weirdness anywhere?_ }

He kept asking himself that question even as he got into his car and left the Stockton mall, and eventually made his way onto the Interstate-5 and headed south.

* * *

 _Many hours later – Hyperion Avenue, a number of blocks from the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; early evening:_

"Locked doors, my tight young ass!"

Cordelia eventually slowed down to a walk after getting a few blocks away from the hotel, looking around in bewilderment. "OK... huh," she said, frowning slightly. "Where the hell _**am**_ I?"

Looking around, Cordelia examined the street, her surroundings, and the various buildings and storefronts before turning to look back down the direction she came from. Nothing looked even remotely familiar to her, damn it. Sighing, she looked up over the nearby buildings to catch a glimpse of the skyline beyond.

After a few minutes, she decided that this could be L.A. – but it was no part of Los Angeles that she was actually familiar with. Maybe somewhere near downtown? One of the older areas?

It definitely wasn't Rodeo Drive. Or even Sunset Boulevard.

Turning back, she continued walking up the street to the end of the block, pausing to look at the street sign. Yep. Hyperion Avenue. Wherever that was.

"Damn it. I want my car," Cordelia muttered. "And my boyfriend. And my parents. And I want to be home!" Frowning, she glared at the street sign. "Somehow, this has _**got**_ to be all Xander's fault. Or Buffy's. Jeez. Kidnapped, coming to in some freaky old hotel with Evil Angel and the Weirdo Brigade... I want to go home!"

Stamping her foot, she huffed impatiently and then set off up Hyperion Avenue, in the same direction she'd originally started running.

Cordelia passed by several newspaper machines, all of them empty or broken into and emptied, but she managed to glean from the names that this almost certainly _**was**_ Los Angeles. That was something, at least.

"Now if I could just find a phone," Cordelia muttered. So far, all of the booths she'd passed had had their receiver cords cut or broken and the receivers stolen. { _Which is just typical,_ } she thought to herself in annoyance.

Lost in thought, she barely registered walking past a small group of street toughs standing or leaning against the wall by the front of what looked like a decaying apartment building. At least, she didn't really register it until two of them wolf-whistled and made kissing noises at her.

"Brr." Reaching up to hold her blouse closed as much as possible, Cordelia folded the other arm across her stomach under her elbow, and kept going. Or she attempted to, anyway –

"Hey, chica. Where _**you**_ goin' in such a hurry?" Two of them, a stringy-haired white guy with a blond goatee and a ratty-looking Hispanic kid, unfolded themselves from against the wall and stepped in her way.

"Excuse me," Cordelia said, glaring at them. She stepped to one side and started to move past them, only to stop abruptly when they shifted to block her path. "Hey!"

"Hey yourself, sweet-cheeks," the stringy-haired blond said, leering at her.

"Oh, please," Cordelia semi-snarled. "Like _**that's**_ a come-on that's gonna work?" Glaring at the pair of punks, she added, "So. You gonna let me past?"

Stringy blond looked at ratty Hispanic. "I dunno. What you think? We gonna let her pass?"

Ratty smirked at him, before turning back to run his gaze up and down her frame. "Hey – she passes _**my**_ inspection."

"Yeah, prime meat all right," Stringy said, snickering.

"Even if she is a bit old," Ratty nodded, grinning.

"Hey! I _**so**_ am not!" Cordelia said, stung. She regretted it immediately, though, after seeing their expressions. Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes. "So, I'm gathering that's a no, huh?"

"Hey, we're easy," Stringy replied. "Whatcha gonna do to make it worth our while?"

"Huh?" Narrowing her eyes, Cordelia gave him an indelicate snort. "Yeah, right. Like _**that's**_ ever gonna happen! I'm _**so**_ far out of your league, you – "

"Chica thinks she's too good for the likes of us," Ratty cut her off, scowling.

"No! Well, yeah," Cordelia said, briefly grimacing at her lack of tact. "But – look. Just let me by, OK?" Taking a deep breath, she lowered her head and began to push between the pair of them.

Until Stringy reached his arm out across her chest and barred her way.

A moment later, his eyes bugged out and he doubled over, retching, as her knee came up in a precise arc that ended directly between his legs and below his belt buckle. Cordelia put her hand on top of his head and shoved, taking off running as Ratty yelled, "Hey!"

* * *

 _A while later – Morris Hill Cemetery, Boise, Idaho; night:_

"Dirty, dirty girl," the man dressed in black said with a deep Southern twang, to the corpse of the female teenager laying dead at his feet.

To the casual observer, he would have appeared to be a man of God, what with the white clerical collar he was wearing – but then, very few priests stood over the body of a dead girl with a bloodstained knife in one hand and an expression of pure happiness on their face.

"Now, I know what you'd be thinking if'n you were still amongst the living. Crazy preacher man spoutin' off about the Whore of Babylon, or some such. But that ain't what I'm on about. I mean, what'd be the point?"

The evil fallen priest, whose name was Caleb, smiled added, "And don't get me wrong, there's no assigning blame here. You were born dirty, pure and simple. Born with that gaping maw down south that wants to open up, 'n suck out a man's marrow. Makes me puke to think too hard on it, truth be told. But I've gone and fixed _**that**_ problem where you're concerned, haven't I?"

"Hello, Caleb."

Caleb started and looked next to him. There was a small, blond young woman who hadn't been there a few moments before. Without needing to hear anything else, Caleb knew who/what he was talking to.

"You ain't never gonna stop with the poppin' in and poppin' out hocus-pocus, are ya?" Caleb said, the smile on his face growing wider. "Not that I'm complaining, mind, just makin' an observation."

"Well, I know you enjoy it, almost as much as you enjoy pursuing my plans. Who was she?" the First Evil suddenly transformed into the image of the dead girl, staring up sightlessly.

"Her?" He nodded disdainfully at the corpse. "Just 'nother dirty girl. This one was a mite filthier than the others 'round here, actually. One of them Potential Slayers y'all want dead."

"Ah. Good. But there's no time for any more of that now – there's been a change in plans," the First said, beginning to circle around him.

"What change is this you're talkin' about?"

"That annoying Messenger from the Powers," the First said cryptically. "He's gone and recruited himself some help of the witchy variety –"

"Well, ain't that just like a woman?" Caleb sneered. "Always messin' up the situation. So, you want me to hunt her down 'n kill her?"

"No. You'd never find her – and you'd regret it, even if you did. Well, unless the odds were somehow overwhelmingly in your favor, which is extremely unlikely," the First shook her/its head. "The fact is – there's another situation that this Whistler asshole is engineering that needs to be dealt with first. Apparently, he's planning to contact someone that _**should**_ have just faded away into the night, and I don't like that. That's why I want you to kill that so-called Champion for me, before setting your sights on the big picture again."

"Consider it done," Caleb promised, as he quickly wiped the knife on the dead girl's clothes to remove all traces of blood, and then he put the weapon away. "Heh, been hoping for a decent challenge lately." He subsequently began to walk towards his truck, which was parked not far away. "So, you'll just tell me where this fella is, and then I gut him like one o' the hogs back home?"

"No, it's not that simple. Unfortunately. Come on – I'll tell you all about it while you're on the road," the First replied.

"Thy will be done," Caleb said rapturously, as they arrived at the truck and he got in. He wasn't in the least surprised when the First Evil simply appeared beside him in the passenger seat, as he started the ignition and drove off. "And exactly who is it I'm s'posed to kill in your name, anyhow?"

"They call him the Groosalugg. Or they used to, anyway."

TBC…

* * *

A/N: Big thank you to everyone for all the reviews and feedback, it's greatly appreciated! Not to mention inspiration to keep going with the story, no doubt about it. Now, some people have asked when Xander and Cordelia are going to meet up - all we'll say is that it _will_ happen, but not for a while. There's still quite a few things that need to happen in this fic before the big reunion, but we promise, it'll all be worth it in the end. And as always, don't be afraid to tell us what you think of the story so far! And, who do you think will win in a contest between Caleb and Groo?


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

 _Sunday, November 10, 2002 – Hyperion Avenue, a number of blocks from the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; early evening:_

Naturally, Ratty and the rest of the punks in Stringy's little gang caught up with her before she got much further than a half a block. { _Stupid heels,_ } Cordelia swore to herself, { _I am_ _ **so**_ _gonna wear flats from now on..._ }

Something grabbed her by the back of the belt and jerked her to a halt, and Cordelia screamed, stumbled, and then spun around with her hand coming up to find Ratty and the other four street thugs pounding to a halt behind him. She swung hard at Ratty's face, only to have him catch her wrist and block the punch.

He yanked her forward by the wrist and shook it, throwing her off-balance again. "Hey! Stop that, chica. Or we'll have to quit playin' with you."

"Let go of me, you jerk!" Cordelia's eyes narrowed dangerously, and she kicked at Ratty's shin.

He stepped back, letting go of her wrist in the process, and she turned to run again; only to be caught around the waist and lifted off her feet by one of the bigger punks. She kicked back with both heels, and wriggled in his grasp trying to break loose, screaming again.

"Damn, she's a feisty one," the thug holding her said, laughing. He shook Cordelia, hard, and added, "Shut the hell up and quit struggling, bitch!"

"Let go of me!" Cordelia yelled, refusing to obey the asshole. "You let go or I'll... "

"You'll what?" Ratty demanded dangerously.

Cordelia glared at him and let out a scream that put the one in the hotel lobby, which had made Angel flinch, to shame. Her captor instantly moved one arm from her waist and clamp a hand over her mouth.

"Mrrph!"

"Man, oh man! Nice set of lungs on the bitch, huh?"

"Hey, those ain't _**lungs**_ , man. We need to get you a remedial _Playboy_ subscription so you can tell the difference?" one of the others asked.

Ratty rolled his eyes and gave the guy the finger, then half-turned as Stringy came limping up behind the group. Since the one holding her had his hand pressed to her lips too tight for her to bite, and kicking didn't do any good, Cordelia simply glared at him and Stringy.

"Hey, mano," Ratty said as Stringy came to a stop, glaring at Cordelia. "What you want to do?"

"Haul her back to the car," Stringy said, sneering. "We'll take her someplace private and get... better acquainted."

"Mmmph!" Cordelia's eyes widened over her captor's hand. Looking around frantically, she saw that the drivers and passengers in cars going along Hyperion Avenue were blithely ignoring the whole scene. Just like Sunnydale. { _Figures. Someone,_ _ **help me**_ _!_ }

"Heh. As hard as she package-checked you, man," one of the others said, "you'll just be watching _**us**_ get acquainted."

"Hey, maybe he likes to watch," another one tossed in.

"Shut the fuck up!" Stringy yelled, rounding on the others. "Come on – drag 'er back to the car."

Nearly back to the spot where they'd first accosted her, the entire group abruptly came to a halt – when a slim male figure dropped down off of a nearby fire escape to land in a crouch in front of them.

"Let her go," the male teen said as he stood up, his eyes narrow and his voice full of menace.

"Oh, crap," Ratty said in annoyance. "Dude thinks he's a freaking knight in shining armor?"

"Yeah? Well, I got something to fix that," Stringy said, stepping forward. A butterfly knife came out from his back pocket, and he whirled it open around and into his right hand.

The male teen took it away from him so fast that his hand appeared a blur to Cordelia's eyes. He punched once with an equally fast jab, and Stringy fell backward, immediately clutching both hands to his face. The newcomer then glanced down once, quickly, at the knife and rolled his eyes. "Cheap steel. Lousy knife," he said contemptuously, before snapping it in half and throwing both halves to one side.

"Ow! He bwoke my nobe! Geb 'im!" Stringy said, clutching his nose.

Two more gang members jumped the new arrival from the sides, and he put both of them down, hard; with equal speed and dispatch, before stalking forward to face the one holding Cordelia.

"Let her go," he said, again.

Cordelia's captor responded by simply throwing her at the teen, who caught her awkwardly. Then they both staggered, as the bigger thug stepped forward and punched Cordelia's rescuer in the face. They both went stumbling back and down, Cordelia sprawling on top of her savior.

He rolled her off of him and to one side, saying, "It's OK, I'll take care of this," and then the guy jumped up and charged into the three remaining gang members.

Cordelia began to scramble back, but then reversed direction and lunged to grab her fallen handbag before completing her retreat. She watched, wide-eyed, as the teen exchanged blows and kicks with the three thugs.

Less than thirty seconds later, the gang of street criminals began running away – the less injured ones helping the others run. All of them piled into a car parked by the curb near where Cordelia had first encountered them, Stringy cursing bitterly all the way.

The male teen stood there, watching them go as the car peeled away from the curb. After they had turned a corner down the block, he headed back toward Cordelia. "Are you all right?" he asked, holding out his hand.

Cordelia scrambled to her feet, clutching her handbag in front of her. "Yeah. Fine. Uh... thanks."

"You're safe now," the guy said, pausing awkwardly when she didn't move to take his proffered hand.

Nodding, Cordelia said, "Like I said, thanks for the assist with those... thugs. Jeez. They were gonna haul me off somewhere, and try to rape me!"

"I kind of figured," he replied, examining her curiously. After a moment, he dropped his outstretched hand and stuffed both of them into his pockets. "Cordy? Are you OK?"

Cordelia blinked. "Wait, you know who I am?"

The guy – she still didn't know his name! – blinked back at her, looking surprised. "Yeah, of course I do!"

"Uh... OK," Cordelia said, cocking her head. "And _**how**_ do I know you, exactly?"

"Cordelia! It's me, Connor!"

"Right," Cordelia said, looking dubious. "And I figurethat totally makes sense to you here in Bizarro World, but... "

"Cordelia? What's wrong with you?" the Connor guy frowned, looking at her hard.

"Me?!" Cordelia unleashed a brittle laugh and shook her head. "Oh, gee, why would _**anything**_ be wrong? Let's see... I woke up in some creepy weirdo hotel with Brit Boy, Miss Stoner Conspiracy Girl, Mr. Wesley Snipes Wannabe, and, oh, yeah – before I forget: Angelus, the Scourge of Europe! I don't know where the hell I am – well, I think it's L.A. but not any part I've ever been before, which means I'm like a hundred miles from home! I've been attacked, and now I'm playing Teen Jeopardy with you! Hey – _**nothing's**_ wrong!"

Cordelia pulled up, suddenly realizing that she'd been stalking forward with every word, getting louder and louder, until she'd been practically screaming in this guy's face, with him retreating step by step ahead of her.

Connor blinked and took another step back from her outburst. And then another. "Uh... you're in Los Angeles, Cordelia."

"Ummm... thanks," Cordelia said, in a much more normal tone. Taking a deep breath, she let it out in a big sigh and focused. "Look, Connor. Thanks for saving me from a fate worse than home room, I mean I'm _**really**_ grateful and all that. And hey – nice moves."

"Thanks?" Connor said, smiling a bit hesitantly. He still looked a bit confused, and what the hell, Cordelia couldn't blame him. She herself didn't fully know what was going on, after all.

Cordelia smiled back, taking a moment to examine the guy more closely. OK, not bad. Pretty much verging on salty goodness if you liked the slim, wiry and intense look – which she kind of did. And hey, really intense blue eyes; almost like Tor Hauer's back in Sunnydale.

"You're welcome," she said, smiling a bit more broadly. "And, yeah. Never seen anything like that; well, except for Buffy. And she's, well, not a guy."

Connor nodded, but still looked confused. "Buffy?"

"Buffy?" Cordelia frowned. "Buffy the Vampire Slayer? In Sunnydale?"

Connor shook his head, looking confused again.

She sighed. "Well, anyway, that was really brave," Cordelia said, smiling at him again. Looking him over once more, she found herself licking her lips. "So you do kinda deserve a reward."

"Really?" Connor's eyes widened, and he grinned at her, his eyes flickering down to her cleavage and lingering. "You mean, like... "

"Yeah," Cordelia said, starting to lean forward. The sudden rush of hormones and lust that she was now feeling took her by surprise, and almost made her head swim. "I mean – you _**did**_ save me from those assholes, and you deserve, like, an appropriate reward."

"You mean that, don't you?" Connor said, starting to lean forward as well – obviously aiming for her lips.

"Oh, yeah! Hoo doggy!" Cordelia replied, leaning forward until her lips were almost touching his.

{ _Wait up. Hoo_ _ **doggy?**_ _Who the heck even_ _talks_ _like that?_ } Where the _**hell**_ did that come from? Not even her boyfriend was _**that**_ lame. And her suddenly wanting to kiss this Connor guy, and, and... { _What the_ _ **hell?**_ }

"Whoa!" Cordelia jerked back as if she'd been scalded by hot water, leaving Connor frowning and looking confused and frustrated. "The hell was that?"

She took a step back, her eyes wide, and then another as Connor stepped forward. He asked her, "Cordy? What, uh, what's wrong?"

"No! I mean, back up," Cordelia told him, shaking her head. "Whoa," she said again, putting a hand up.

"I, I... I don't understand," Connor said, looking more confused than ever.

"Look," Cordelia said, sighing. "I don't know what just came over me, OK? I mean, yeah, you're kinda cute, and with the danger-saving and the adrenaline rush – but hey! That's more or less how I got my current boyfriend, and I _**so**_ do not need to cheat on him the very next adrenaline time that comes around. Even if he is a big dork."

"What are you... you have a boyfriend now?!" Connor started scowling.

Having no idea why Connor was scowling so ferociously over the word 'boyfriend', Cordelia met his frown with one of her own and raised him a glare. "Well, duh! That's what you call it when you make out all the time with a guy, and don't date anyone else!" She laughed, waving at herself, and said, "And besides, can you look at all this and picture me _**not**_ having a boyfriend?"

"So, you've gone back to _**him?**_ I thought you'd chosen _**me!**_ " Connor said, heatedly.

"Chosen _**you?**_ Of all the nerve! Whoever the hell you are, I'll have you know that I'll date whoever I want to date – no matter how lame he is!" Cordelia retorted angrily.

For some reason, hearing that made the guy brighten up considerably. { _Gee,_ } Cordy thought to herself, { _bipolar much?_ }

Then she frowned as Connor said, "Really? You think Angel is lame?"

"Angel?" Cordelia blinked, gaping at him. "Why in God's name would _**that**_ guy be my boyfriend?"

It was Connor's turn to blink, and gape at her. "Well, uh... I thought... "

"You thought what? Jeez. Seriously – do I look like some bottle-blond bimbo of a so-called Vampire Slayer?" Cordelia retorted. "I mean, really. I like my men with a pulse! And body heat. And not so much with the murder – "

"If you're not with Angel," Connor cut her off, starting to sound exasperated, "then how do you have a boyfriend?"

"Well, duh! Xander?" Upon seeing Connor's deepening scowl and puzzled expression, Cordelia gave him a scowl of her own. "Hey, I thought you said we knew each other – no, hang on, wait a minute – how _**do**_ you know me, anyway?"

Connor shrugged. "You were nice to me once. Uh, more than once. A lot. Real nice."

"Oh yeah?" Cordelia said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "How nice are we talking here? I gave you a ride somewhere? Let you cheat off my homework?"

"Uh, no... " Connor shook his head and then shrugged helplessly. "I mean, you kissed me earlier tonight. And we've been sleeping together – "

"Whoa!" Cordelia instantly took a step back, her eyes going wide. "And no, I am totally sure _**that**_ didn't happen! Well, except for the almost-kissage just now, but that was danger and hormones or something and – "

"It did!" Connor interrupted, almost yelling now. "And we have! I'm not lying!"

"Whoa, easy there bucko," Cordelia said, her eyes flashing. "Don't you yell at _**me!**_ " She then went on, "And yeah, you are lying! Because I haven't even slept with Xander yet! Well, almost, but then there was me kicking the parking brake on my Miata, and then the werewolf thing, and I'm pretty sure that blowjobs in the janitor's closet don't count – well, not according to Xander anyway, and – "

Connor shook his head again, scowling and interrupting her. "Cordelia! What's wrong with you? You're not making any sense!"

"Oh, yes I am!" Cordelia yelled back. Her eyes suddenly widened and she backed up even farther. "Wait – unless you're _**in**_ on the kidnapping and memory loss and brainwashing thing. Oh, crap, you mean you mean Stoner Girl was _**right**_ with the whole conspiracy scenario?"

"No! There was no kidnapping! I wouldn't, I mean I – " Connor abruptly shut himself up, before holding his hands up defensively. "OK, there's something really wrong here. Look, I'm sorry Cordelia. Let's just get you home where it's safe and then we can figure this out, alright?"

"Finally! That's the first thing anyone's said recently that I actually agree with," Cordelia said fervently. "Come on, let's go! You have a car?"

"Huh? Why would I have a... no," Connor said, looking confused again. And way out of his depth, oddly enough... "No, we live over that way," he added, pointing back and away from the hotel.

"Huh? We? What's this _**we**_ riff?" Cordelia demanded.

"Come on," Connor said, taking a step forward. "You remember. Don't you? We live in the attic above the Natural History Museum. We've been living there together pretty much since the day you came back," he said, starting to look a bit desperate.

"No... I don't remember any such thing," Cordelia told him, slowly and distinctly. "Because I live with my parents. In a _**house**_. A mansion. Not some el creepo museum loft, eww."

Sighing, Connor took a fast step forward, and he grabbed hold of Cordelia's wrist. "Come on, I'll show you. Your st– "

"Let go of me!" Cordelia shrieked immediately, pulling away and yanking at her wrist. She might as well have been yanking at a steel vise, though, and she started to get scared again. "Let _**go**_ , you super-powered _**freak!**_ "

"I'm not going to hurt you," Connor said impatiently, pulling her forward and ignoring the insult.

"Damn right you're not!" Cordelia yelled. She hit him with her handbag as hard as she could, right across the side of the head.

"Ow! Stop that!" Connor yelled, flinching. He didn't let go, though. "Hey! Cordelia, stop it! I just want to show you – "

"You're not showing me anything, you asshole!" Cordelia yelled, cutting him off. She swung the handbag again, causing Connor to jerk away. Unfortunately, as he didn't let go, she was yanked along with him. She screamed as his vise-like grip tightened, hurting her wrist slightly.

"Stop that! Stop hitting me!" the unmitigated asshole scowled, attempting to avoid the handbag.

Over Connor's shoulder, Cordelia saw an LAPD cruiser turn the corner three-quarters of a block down Hyperion Avenue, and she swung the handbag again, screaming. He jerked back again, and she yelled, "Help! Police! Help me, damn it!"

The area was suddenly bathed in blue and red flashing light as the cruiser put on a short burst of speed, and then screeched to a halt. The loudspeaker on top came on, blaring out, "Let go of the woman! Let go and step away from her!"

Startled, Connor half-turned toward the loudspeaker, and his grip slackened. Instantly, Cordelia jerked her hand out of his grasp, and, when he turned back toward her with a startled expression, she kicked Connor between the legs with the toe of her strappy sandal as hard as she could.

"Oof!" Connor doubled over, and she started off toward the police cruiser as the doors opened and the two cops spilled out, with their hands on their pistol butts.

"Help! This guy is crazy!" Cordelia screamed at them.

* * *

 _Many hours later – 141 Embury Street, Silverlake, Los Angeles; evening:_

Appearing out of the shadows, Amy reached for the doorknob to Apartment 3C once she'd satisfied herself that no one else was in the corridor. As soon as her hand closed around the knob, though, there was a bright flash of white light; and the lock made a loud clicking noise.

{ _Well, crap._ } Amy quickly turned the knob and pushed – only to have the door stubbornly refuse to open. Stepping back, she sighed and glared at the closed door. "Hey! Ghost Boy. Open the goddamn door – I'm here to talk to you!"

Silence. Amy grew annoyed and said, "Look, I'm kinda on the clock here, _**Dennis**_. And if we're gonna be honest, I'm also getting tempted to do a quick 'alohomora' and then exorcise your ghostly ass! Now, you gonna let me in, or what?"

The apartment door opened so fast that she thought the ghost might have nearly yanked it off its hinges. Smirking to herself, Amy stepped inside – only to be pushed to one side of the door frame and shoved against the wall by an unseen force. The invisible force then swung the door closed.

As it clicked and locked, Amy got mad. Her hands started glowing orange with magical power as she choked out, "Depello!"

The pressure on her throat eased at once, and there was a flash of orange light before a loud, unearthly scream sounded in the apartment. Amy glared at empty air before saying, "OK, we need to get something straight – namely, _**don't**_ try anything like that again. Or else one of us is going to regret it, and it won't be me! Understand?"

After another long pause, Amy calmed down and said, "All right. Well, this is going to be awkward, especially since we've totally gotten off on the wrong foot this way. But the thing is – I'm here to talk to you about _**Cordelia**_ , you idiot spook!"

Amy gestured, and a big whiteboard on an easel appeared off to the side of the room. She also created a black marker pen and said to the ghost of Dennis Pearson, "Right, well, you've probably got questions, and I'm in no mood for a séance or whatever. So, ask away."

The marker pen rose up into the air, apparently up on its own, and scribbled, 'Who are you?'

"Name's Amy Madison. I was one of Cordelia's classmates during high school, back in Sunnydale – and yeah, before you ask, I'm a witch. Kinda obvious, isn't it?"

The marker pen then wrote out, 'What do you want with Cordelia? And where is she?'

"Well, as for the first question, that's complicated. Mostly because I don't know everything yet, that Whistler guy kinda has me working on a need-to-know basis right now," Amy sighed, calming down a bit more. "Anyway, with regards to Cordelia's whereabouts – she's in Sunnydale. The good old Hellmouth itself. And according to the game plan, that's where she needs to stay."

'WHY?' the marker pen traced out in large, capital letters.

"Why? I'll tell you why – because that spoiled princess has all the brains of a challenged gnat, that's why!" Amy growled. "Still can't believe what Whistler told me, how Cordelia deliberately let the visions damage her brain to the point that she would have _**died**_ , if that two-faced demon creep Skip hadn't transformed her mind and body when he did! Sheesh, when she and I were little kids, they _**warned**_ us about the dangers of accepting presents from strangers. But did she listen? Obviously not... "

'I don't understand,' wrote the ghost of Dennis Pearson.

Amy exhaled loudly. "Like I said, it's complicated. OK, listen up, this is gonna take a while to explain properly... "

She quickly launched into the story and eventually said, "So anyway, Cordelia came back from the Higher Realms recently – but she came back _**wrong**_ , understand? Her body got invaded by a... a hitch-hiker, I guess you could call it, while she was Up There. It was all part of the evil plan that was set up by that rogue PTB. And now Cordelia's in deadly danger – "

'WHAT?' Phantom Dennis quickly scrawled on the whiteboard.

"Yeah," Amy admitted, looking kinda sheepish. "I wasn't involved in that part of it, but I heard that Cordelia's body eventually descended despite all of the major players' attempts to stop it. Really fills me full of confidence about how those so-called higher beings are looking out for us Up There, ya know? Anyway, bottom line, Cordelia's at the center of a plot that I'm not sure what all of the ramifications are, but I _**can**_ tell you that there's nothing good in store for her – "

'How can I help?' the marker quickly wrote on the board.

Amy finally smiled and said, "Hey, I thought you'd never ask! See, now that Cordelia thinks that she's seventeen again – which apparently is a good thing, by the way – "

The marker pen moved, making her shut up as it wrote out, 'Why?'

Amy shrugged, "Well, somehow, it makes her useless for whatever purpose that Skip guy and his boss set all this up for. I don't know details – all I know is it's important that Cordelia can recall having a home, family, friends, and most especially a _**boyfriend**_ , that has nothing to do with her life here in this city. And that she _**doesn't**_ remember any of the emotional baggage that set her up for coming to Hell-A in the first place. "

'I don't understand,' the ghost of Dennis Pearson wrote slowly. 'Why would any of that be important? Can't you at least give me a hint?'

"No," Amy shook her head at once. "See, this is where it gets even _**more**_ complicated. Now that Cordelia's returned to Sunnydale, apparently there's gonna be at least one Big Bad that won't appreciate having a Seer like her dropping in uninvited. And that's where _**you**_ come in, actually."

'Me?' the marker pen wrote, and to Amy's eye, in a fairly skeptical way. 'What do you need me for?'

"Supernatural backup, of course," Amy replied, rolling her eyes a little. "I can't stay there in Sunnydale twenty-four/seven to babysit Cordelia personally, even if I wanted to – which I _**don't**_. Besides, what's that old saying about home being where the heart is? Don't you want to join your old roommate on the Hellmouth, instead of spending the rest of your eternity in here all alone?"

'Of course!' the marker pen wrote out immediately. 'But I can't leave the apartment. I'm not only earthbound, I'm confined to the barracks as well.'

Amy shrugged and replied, "Well, yeah. But I've got a plan for dealing with that little problem, believe it or not."

Placing her hand out in front of her, Amy concentrated for a moment – and a smallish glass sphere appeared in her right palm. "It's called an Orb of Thesulah," she said, holding the Orb up a bit higher. "A spirit container, if you wanna be technical about it. It can be used to break your anchor to this place, and transfer you to Cordelia's new home in Sunnydale. So, are you in?"

'How do I know I can trust you?' Phantom Dennis wrote out slowly. 'I just met you, after all. How can I be sure this isn't an elaborate plot of some kind to harm Cordelia?'

Amy shrugged, "I guess you don't. Or, if you like, I can swear on my magic that everything I've told you is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? Either way, what I can tell you for sure is that if you _**don't**_ come with me, the odds are Cordelia's gonna get killed. And sooner, rather than later." She held the Orb up a little higher. "You decide, right now. And just so you know, if you decide to stay? I _**won't**_ come back to make this offer again."

Amy stared at the globe in her palm, and after a moment, it began to glow. A few moments later, it filled with a swirling radiance, and then there was a bright white flash that ended with the Orb containing a white, swirling, smoke-like substance. Dennis Pearson's soul.

"Well, that was simple enough," Amy said, nodding. "Just gotta hope that everything else falls into place as easily as that... "

TBC…

* * *

A/N: To all the Xander fans reading this fanfic, sorry how he didn't make an appearance in this chapter - but he _will_ be back in the next part, we promise! And all the other chapters after that; the world-building is almost complete, just a few more things to cover and we can really get stuck into the main part of the fic. And WesGeorge, you were right about the 'shaking out the plot and backstory' thing, there are going to be a LOT of plot threads in this one before we're done. As for the mish-mash thing, sorry if parts of the fanfic seem a little confusing! Not everything is in chronological order, after all. And thanks as always to everyone who's reading and reviewing the story - you guys truly inspire us to do better! Please, keep it coming...


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

 _Sunday, November 10, 2002 – Hyperion Avenue, a number of blocks from the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; early evening:_

"What's going on here?" one of the uniform officers demanded, as both cops undid the clasps on their holsters.

{ _Holy crap,_ } Cordelia thought to herself in amazement, { _you actually_ _ **can**_ _find a cop when you need one!_ } "HELP! This guy's trying to kidnap me or something!"

Kicking him in the balls was apparently enough to make that Connor creep lose all sense of judgment. Unfortunately, it _**wasn't**_ enough to put him down for keeps. Uncurling from his bent-over position, he lunged forward as Cordelia continued to head for the policemen.

"Stop that!" Connor grabbed her by the wrist again and said roughly, "You're coming home with me – "

"In your dreams, asshole!" she screamed, and then she yelled even more loudly, "LET GO OF ME!" She started struggling and kicking at him, cursing and unable to break his grip.

The two LAPD officers exchanged quick glances with each other, and then drew their handguns. "Hey!" the younger one yelled at Connor. "Let the woman go! RIGHT NOW!"

Connor glared at her, and then he glared at the cops. Which was exactly the opening that Cordelia needed – she brought her handbag around again in an arc that ended smack dab in the middle of Connor's face, and he flinched backward and away from it. "Hey!"

"Hey _**this**_ , you creep!" Cordelia yelled, swinging at his head again.

Connor ducked under the swing, and Cordelia took advantage of her momentum and the distraction of his flinch to step in and bring up her knee between his legs – with her full weight behind it, this time.

It made for a loud thud that crossed Connor's eyes briefly, and even lifted him slightly off his feet. Seven yards away, both cops winced and clutched at themselves involuntarily, with their off hands...

The impact also caused Connor's steel grip to loosen completely, and Cordelia finally yanked her arm out of his grasp again. Spinning on her heel, she turned and ran full tilt for the police cruiser as Connor retched, groaned, and began to unfold himself painfully.

The younger of the two cops, a sandy-haired white guy in his late twenties with a mustache, trained his weapon on Connor and yelled, "Hands on your head! Down on your knees! Now!"

Cordelia reached the squad car, and the older, slightly overweight Hispanic cop put out his hand and guided her around and to the side while keeping her carefully out of reach of himself or his weapon. "Get down by the fender, lady! And stay out of the way!"

Nodding frantically, Cordelia crouched by the back of the car, white-faced. The older cop stepped out to where he could help his partner apprehend Connor, while still keeping one eye on her.

"You!" the younger cop yelled again, obviously talking to Connor. "Down! Hands up behind your head! Last warning!"

Straightening painfully, Connor groaned; wow, it sounded like she'd hit him even harder than she'd thought. He then unleashed a growling, exasperated sound, before she heard him take off running.

"Hey!" both cops yelled. Cordelia got up and looked as the younger policeman tried to draw a bead on him – but Connor ducked as he passed a parked car, and the LAPD officer was forced to yank his weapon up and offline.

"Stop or I'll shoot!" he yelled, as Connor broke from behind the car and pelted into the nearest alley a few yards away.

"Go! I've got this," the older cop called over to the younger one.

The younger cop nodded and took off for the alley, holding his weapon muzzle up as he ran, reaching up for his shoulder mike with his other hand. He disappeared into the alley that Connor had vanished down.

Shaking his head, the older cop then said, "Miss, are you all right?"

"Oh, do I _**look**_ all right to you?!" Cordelia shot back angrily. "Ugghhh!"

"Are you injured, miss?" the Hispanic insisted, searching her with his gaze. "Do you need an ambulance?"

Cordelia took stock of herself quickly. Her wrist hurt where the Connor freak had grabbed it, but it didn't seem sprained or broken. As a cheerleader, she'd experienced enough strains, sprains, pulled muscles, and inflamed joints to know by now. So she shook her head, straightening slowly to her full height.

"No. I'm not hurt. I'm just angry, scared, and tired of all of this crap!" she said, glaring to the world in general. "Why does this stuff keep _**happening**_ to me?" A memory of her saying something like that before and Xander giving her his lopsided grin and replying "*cough* Karma! *cough*" made her giggle, and then suddenly burst into tears.

"Hey," the older cop said soothingly. "It'll be OK, miss. What's your name?"

"Cordelia. Cordelia Chase," she replied, hiccupping slightly. She wiped angrily at her eyes with a hand.

"All right, Miss Chase," the Hispanic guy said. "Now, are you sure you're not injured?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Cordelia replied quickly. "Just shook up, is all."

The older cop's partner came trotting back around the corner of the alley mouth, speaking into his shoulder mike. As he neared the car, the Hispanic scowled and asked, "He got away?"

"More like flew away," the other policeman replied disgustedly. "Dead end alley, no fire escapes – City Inspector musta been bought off again – no unlocked doors. Unless he's Peter Parker and ran straight up a bare wall, I don't see how the hell he disappeared!"

As the younger cop finished grousing and holstering his sidearm, the older one chuckled. "Lemme tell you about a detective I knew a few years back," he said, "and the type of cases _**she**_ got. You run into some of the weirdest shit in this city, seriously."

"Tell me about it!" Cordelia agreed fervently. "Seriously – in the short time I've been here, it's been almost as bad as Sunnydale!"

Both cops started in astonishment, and then looked at her warily. "You're from Sunnydale, miss?" the younger cop asked. He then exchanged a quick look with his partner.

"Well, yeah," Cordelia replied, nodding. "I grew up there."

The older cop frowned at her. "Miss Chase? Do you have any identification? Driver's license, I.D. card, anything?"

Cordelia looked at him blankly, then shrugged. "Yeah, I should," she said. She slid a hand into her pocket, and pulled a small money clip with a thin fold of bills. "Crap. Hang on... " Cordelia opened her handbag. "Ah! Here's my wallet."

Opening the wallet, she held it out to the older cop. The Hispanic policeman shook his head and said, "Just take out the I.D. and pass it over, please."

Rolling her eyes, Cordelia did so. She frowned as he examined it, and then the uniform officer stepped back and turned away, speaking quietly into his shoulder mike again.

"OK. Do you wish to make a statement and press charges, Miss... ?" the younger policeman asked her. He drew a small notebook out of his shirt pocket.

"Chase. Cordelia Chase. And sure, if I even knew who that guy was," Cordelia sniffed. Then she sighed, "On second thoughts, no. I just want to go _**home**_." Hearing her voice threaten to break again, she swallowed hard.

"Where exactly _**is**_ home, Miss Chase?" the blond cop asked, not yet putting away his notebook.

"Like I said, Sunnydale. And I swear, I just wish I knew what the hell I was even _**doing**_ here in Los Angeles!" Cordelia complained, throwing her arms up.

"You still live in Sunnydale? Not just _**from**_ there? That's at least eighty miles away," the man said, looking concerned. He frowned at her for a moment, seeming suddenly suspicious.

"Miss Chase?" the older cop rejoined the conversation. "Your driver's license lists a Los Angeles address at an apartment in Silverlake."

"It does?" Cordelia blinked at him, feeling more and more confused and weirded out.

"Uh-huh. Right here," the Hispanic police officer said, showing her the license. She looked at it numbly for a moment, and then he drew it back and returned to copying her information down in his notebook.

"God. And Bizarro World just keeps getting more so!" Cordelia said, shaking her head. "I swear, I don't know anything about any apartment here in L.A.! I live in Sunnydale, at Number 4 Parkview. I go to school at Sunnydale High. All I know is that I woke up recently in some weird hotel with a bunch of crazy idiots – " She hastily decided to edit out the stuff about Angelus and the Weirdo Brigade, "– ran out, got jumped by some thugs, and then that crazy asshole showed up and started insisting that I lived with him at some museum!"

"Some museum?" the older cop frowned at her, and then said, "Did he say anything else?"

"Uh... something about, uh... he thought we lived together – which is completely insane – and, um, oh! His name is Connor! Connor something!"

"Connor, right. And museum?" the younger cop asked again, scribbling down the other information in his notebook. "Anything else he mentioned about that?"

"Well... oh! Yeah: Natural History Museum, attic above it or something," Cordelia said, a bit angrily. "And seriously – do I _**look**_ like I'd live in some creepy loft with a weirdo like him?"

"You said something about a hotel?" the older cop asked, his expression half-curious and half-skeptical.

"Yeah. Some run-down, creepy old hotel, uh... that way, somewhere," Cordelia replied, gesturing vaguely. She didn't want to send the two cops to where they might find Angelus and get killed. Or get _**her**_ killed, if they dragged her along with them. "I don't know! When I got out of there, I just ran, and ended up here." She suddenly decided to spill the beans about the Weirdo Brigade, just in case the police officers investigated that part of it. "See, there was this black guy, and some Susie Stoner girl, and a stuffy British dweeb... "

"Here?" the younger cop asked, blinking at her.

"No! At the hotel, duh. Here is where the street thugs were, and that Connor creep!" Cordelia said, stamping her foot.

The cops continued questioning her for a while, and Cordelia gave them descriptions (as best she could) of the thugs, the people at the hotel, and her waking up. Finally, the older cop sighed and handed her back her license, folding up his notebook.

The Hispanic then drew away a short distance with his partner, asking Cordelia to wait by the car, and the two of them engaged in a short, intense discussion.

Overhearing parts of the conversation, Cordelia couldn't help but smirk slightly as the younger cop stated that everything about her just screamed money, and it couldn't hurt having some rich father owe them one. Heh. Cops were cops the world over – Sunnydale or L.A., it seemed... The older one sighed again and said something about having a daughter her age, which caused Cordelia to raise her opinion of him slightly. He seemed a bit less mercenary than the younger one.

After a short time, they came back to her, and the older cop said, "Miss Chase? Are you sure that you don't want to make a statement and file a complaint against any of these people? That kid who assaulted you, or anyone else?"

"Would it actually do any good?" Cordelia asked bluntly, arching her eyebrows.

The younger cop snickered, shaking his head. "Honestly? Not that much. We could hold them, maybe, if we could find any of them. But in this neighborhood? Some scumbag lawyer from Wolfram & Hart would probably take the case – unless they were scum that even other scumbags wouldn't touch – and they'd walk. Assuming it ever even got to court."

The older cop scowled at him, but then nodded reluctantly. "Unfortunately he's right, Ms. Chase."

"Then no," Cordelia said, scowling. "I just want to go home and forget all this ever happened, damn it!"

"All right," the older cop nodded, his tone soothing. "Do you have a car you can use to get home?"

"No!" Cordelia yelled, feeling like she was going to burst into tears again at any moment. "If I had my car, would I even be here talking to you guys?" she demanded acerbically, before reluctantly apologizing. "Sorry, it's just – it's been a _**really**_ bad night so far."

"We understand," the younger one said sympathetically.

"Huh. When I radioed it in, dispatch said there was a Jeep Wrangler Unlimited registered to your name and the Silverlake address," the older cop mentioned, frowning.

"Jeep?" Cordelia blinked at him, before shaking her head. "But... no. I have a red BMW Z9 coupé, registered to my parents' home in Sunnydale. I don't know anything about any Jeep... " She slumped against the fender of the squad car, feeling drained.

The older cop nodded, "The Jeep was found abandoned on the highway back in May. It's been in impound ever since." He gave her a skeptical, and yet somewhat sympathetic look. "You said you were a high school student? Your license lists you as being a personal assistant."

"It does?" Cordelia gaped at him, and then glanced down at the driver's license still clutched in her hand. Yup. Profession: Personal Assistant. And, wait... "What the hell? This was issued in 2001?"

Both cops glanced at each other, and then the younger one said, "Umm, Miss Chase? What year did you think it was issued in?"

"Nine-" Cordelia gulped fearfully. "1997. It's 1998 right now! Early May. School's out in a few weeks... "

"Rip van Winklette?" the younger cop said, before the older one shot him a quelling look.

Both cops shifted uncomfortably as Cordelia started to sniffle again, and withdrew a short distance once more for another brief, intense, and heated discussion. Cordelia sniffled again and re-examined the driver's license, feeling overwhelmed. It was a crappy picture, too – making her look _**years**_ older.

After a few minutes, the older cop came back over, the younger one a few steps behind him. "Look, Miss Chase. If we call all of this in, and get the detectives involved, more than likely none of us will get out of here for hours. Most likely you'll end up being taken to L.A. County MHMR for evaluation, given the, uh... "

"Insane-o parts of my story?" Cordelia demanded, her eyes flashing. "Well, I'm _**not**_ insane, let me tell you – I know my name, I know how many fingers I have, I know who the President is – "

"Hey!" the Hispanic cop held up a hand, adding, "Not saying anything like that, miss. Just letting you know the score."

"Just out of curiosity, Miss Chase," the white cop said, looking at her intensely. "Who is the President?"

"Clinton! Duh!" Cordelia replied. "Not that I care all that much for him, but – "

"It's George Bush, actually," the younger cop said, interrupting her. The two police officers exchanged questioning looks again, before he added, "He was elected after Bill Clinton's term ended."

"Huh? But... he's old. And Clinton beat him, didn't he? Or was it Perot?"

"Oh! No. George Bush _**Junior**_ ," the younger LAPD officer said, smirking slightly.

"Oh. Well, that's OK then," Cordelia said, a bit inanely. "Look, I don't _**care**_ about any of that! I don't want to spend all night here... I want my parents. I want my boyfriend. I want all this insanity to end. I just want to go _**home**_ , damn it!"

"It's OK, Ms. Chase," the older cop said, his voice soothing again. "Ah – do you have a phone number for your parents? One they can be reached at?"

Cordelia blinked at him, before rattling it off from memory. He looked at the younger cop, who nodded and stepped away, pulling out a cell phone.

Almost immediately, the police officer scowled and closed the phone, stepping back. "No good. Recording says that's no longer a working number. Do you have another one? Cell phone, maybe?"

Cordelia gaped at him, shaking her head numbly. "No. My parents don't like cell phones. Well, they have them, but... anyway, I keep those numbers in my own cell. Which I, like, don't _**have**_... "

"Do you have enough money for a bus ticket to Sunnydale? Or a train ticket?" the older cop asked.

"Uh... " Cordelia looked at him blankly, and then dug her wallet out of her handbag. Oh – a small gold watch, too. With a broken band, explaining why she hadn't been wearing it. Wow... only eight o'clock, almost. Still early evening.

Both cops tensed slightly again when she dug through the handbag, relaxing when she just came up with the watch and wallet. She opened the wallet, slipping the license into the holder and then digging through the money compartment, before withdrawing the money clip from her pocket.

"Yeah, I think so," Cordelia finally said, nodding. "Train. It's faster – and way less smelly. And a cab when I get there. And maybe something to eat... "

"All right," the older cop said, sighing. Pushing his cap back on his head, the Hispanic police officer glanced at his partner. "There's an Amtrak station not too far from here. It's within our patrol zone." Seeing the look his partner gave him, the older cop shot one back at the younger one, raising his eyebrows.

"Hey," the guy said, holding out his hands and smirking. "You want to play Good Samaritan, it's no skin off of my nose."

" _ **You**_ were the one who said it'd be good having a rich daddy owe us one, Hodges," his partner replied acidly.

"Well, I'm grateful, Officer... " Cordelia peered at the nameplate and added, "Castillo. Thank you."

"Hey, I have a daughter your age," Castillo said, shrugging. "She got stuck in something like this in the lower rent area of Downtown Somewhere, I'd like to see her catch a break." Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a card and handed it to Cordelia. "Cell number. You get back to your folks, have them call it. If _**they**_ want to press charges, or get whatever information we have in our report so the Sunnydale PD can follow this up, they can get it from us."

Officer Hodges snorted at the mention of her home town cops. Given what she knew now as compared to back in sophomore year, Cordelia couldn't blame him... "If you would, please, Ms. Chase," Castillo's partner then said, holding his hand out. "I need to examine your bag before we let you in the back of the car."

Cordelia frowned, then nodded and handed it over, watching as he gave the handbag a brief, efficient, and thorough search before handing it back. Tossing the wallet and watch inside, she slung it over her shoulder and got into the back of the squad car after Officer Castillo opened the door for her.

The back seat smelled faintly of old vomit, and industrial-strength cleanser and disinfectant. Cordelia shuddered slightly, and then pulled out her compact and her makeup kit. Opening up the compact, she looked into the small mirror to see how badly the night's misadventures had messed up her hair and face...

"Blond? I'm _**blond**_ now? Oh ye gods... Stoner Girl was right!" Cordelia wailed. "Oh, God. My hair. My _**hair**_ _ **!**_ The government gave me bad hair?!" She started weeping in the back seat, causing the cops to exchange looks all over again –

* * *

 _A few moments previously – top of a tallish building a block or so away, Los Angeles; early evening:_

Connor scowled ferociously, and impotently, as he watched Cordelia get into the back of the police vehicle. After the squad car killed its flashers and pulled away, heading off down the street, he straightened up from his kneeling position within the shadows at the edge of the building roof.

{ _Blast. And damned,_ } he thought to himself viciously. Immediately, Connor mentally chastised himself – his father, Holtz, hadn't approved of cursing and blasphemy.

His _**other**_ father.

Still, it was the only thing that really fit the situation. Plus Holtz had never really been his father, anyway, and he was dead now – victim of his own insane revenge scheme.

Sighing, Connor shook his head at the wash of emotions that always came over him when he thought of his adopted father and his birth father – anger, hate, sadness, love, resentment, bewilderment, longing, and confusion – and turned to go. Too confusing. Best to deal with the things at hand.

The things he could deal with, maybe.

Time to go find the others at the hotel, and figure out what was going on.

One thing was for certain –

The entire situation was seriously messed up, and Connor was sure that if nothing else, something was very _**wrong**_ with Cordelia.

* * *

 _A while later – demon bar, southwestern Idaho; night:_

He was extremely tall, and broad across the shoulders and chest, and his intense blue eyes were not quite human. He had a shock of unruly black hair, and wore a classic leather bomber jacket over a white shirt, and a pair of dark brown leather pants with hiking boots.

His name was the Groosalugg, or Groo for short – and he had once been the Champion of Pylea, the Undefeated Gladiator of the Scum Pits of Ur, and one-time ruler of that demon dimension.

He had _**also**_ once been the consort of the Princess of Pylea – Cordelia Chase.

Currently, though, he was neither consort nor gladiator, nor associated with Cordelia – by his own choice. And he was having a drink in this underground tavern located within what the locals called the Treasure Valley, even if it lacked anything that he personally would consider a treasure.

The only treasure he had ever _**truly**_ wanted had rejected him and chosen another, many months ago.

The sound of someone sitting on the barstool next to his and clearing his throat gave him pause, and Groo turned slowly to face the source of the noise.

He saw a medium-sized man wearing an old jacket over a truly hideous shirt, and a battered pork pie hat, attempting to catch the attention of the demon bartender.

"Hey! Could I have an American Amber Ale?" the man requested loudly, before turning slightly and saying politely, "Hi. How ya doin'?"

"I am – well, thank you for asking. Who are you, stranger?" Groo asked, his tone curious and unconcerned.

"Name's Whistler, bub," the man replied. "Pleasure to meetcha."

Groo cocked his head further, studying the new arrival. After a moment, he said, "You are a demon."

"Hey, you're good," Whistler nodded. "I'm impressed, really. And yeah, I am, on my mother's side – and so are you. What's the appropriate term where you come from? Life-giver, or something like that; am I right?"

{ _This one is more than he appears. Perhaps some caution is warranted._ } "Indeed. And I sense that you did not come to this place merely by chance, nor did you choose to sit next to me simply on a whim. What is it that you wish of me, Demon Whistler?"

"Hey," the newcomer said, holding his hands up. "It's not about what I want from you, it's what's needed of you."

"Which is?" Groo raised an eyebrow, looking at the man curiously. He had nothing tying him to any particular place, not anymore, and if an adventure was in the offing...

"Your Pylean princess has need of a Champion again, big guy – " Whistler began his speech.

But Groo shook his head, and turned away immediately. He made a curt, dismissive gesture that masked the pain which the mention of Cordelia had sent through him, and swallowed a big gulp of alcohol before saying, "She is no longer mine. She chose another, and _**he**_ is her Champion now."

"Yeah, well, things have changed since you wandered off that night in L.A.," Whistler said patiently. "OK," he continued as Groo looked back, "maybe 'your' wasn't exactly the right choice of words. I mean, you don't _**own**_ women like that. They're like a hawk or an eagle or whatever that chooses to land on your wrist, and then fly off again. Or, if you're lucky, they choose to stay with you. You weren't lucky – but it ain't your fault that deep down, your ex-girlfriend's heart always belonged to someone else."

"You are telling me nothing that I am not already aware of, Demon Whistler," Groo replied mournfully, before gulping down more of his drink.

"Yeah, whatever. Point is, you left your fair princess behind for her own good," Whistler shrugged. "Hey – like the old saying goes, if you love someone, set them free. Even though my opinion, if they come back to you... well, usually means that they're broken, somehow. Only problem is – you still love the woman in question, don't you?"

"My _**feelings**_ are none of your concern," Groo said angrily, before he sent an annoyed look in Whistler's direction. "Why are you not speaking of this with the Champion Angel, instead of myself?"

"Well, hey. Stink Guy has his own problems right now. Not the least of which is his kid practically hating his guts," Whistler replied, smirking. Groo found that he could truly get to dislike that smirk... "Besides which, according to the new game plan – Rat Breath is gonna lose his connection to that particular Seer, soon enough. The Powers went 'n issued the orders for me and my assistant to make it so."

Groo tried to ignore the momentary spark of hope in his heart after hearing that. "Assistant?"

"Kid's not here right now. You'll be meeting her later on, at some point," Whistler shrugged slightly. "Well, I think so, anyway. Powers didn't let me see that far ahead, for some reason."

Groo snorted, shaking his head. "You still have not explained why _**I**_ am needed?"

"Yer a Champion, aren't ya, fella?" Whistler asked, giving Groo a penetrating look. "Not one of _**our**_ Champions, of course, but still a Champion. The type chosen to defend and protect, yadda yadda yadda."

Inclining his head, Groo replied, "Yes?" He'd already decided that he wasn't going to argue the description. A Champion was someone who championed those who needed a defender against the forces of evil, and he had no false modesty – it was a role that fit him well.

"So, bottom line – your princess and her old boyfriend are gonna be having a whole lotta bad stuff to deal with, in the days and weeks to come," Whistler said. "They're gonna need a Champion to help ensure their survival – someone who has the gal's best interests at heart, and who's able to put his own petty feelings aside. Even if there's certain people who'd prefer you not to get involved."

"And you believe that I _**should**_ be involved in this matter, correct?" Groo observed, eying the half-demon carefully.

"Well, yeah. Like I said; you still love her, right?" Whistler asked.

Groo said nothing, merely regarding his companion carefully.

Whistler shrugged, and drank down his entire bottle of ale in one, long gulp. The demon then reached into a one of his pockets and pulled out a large, round bronze disc, before placing it on the bar in front of Groo. He picked it up and said, "What is this?"

"Something you'll need, once you set foot outside this bar." Whistler replied cryptically, placing the bottle down on top of the bar.

Groo examined the talisman carefully. It looked like – well, it resembled some sort of coat of arms, something which the demons who used to run the Covenant of Trombli in Pylea would use. "I do not understand, what – "

But then he noticed his companion was no longer present. Whistler had disappeared, vanished into thin air.

Frowning, Groo stuffed the talisman into one of his pockets, paid for his drink, grabbed his pack and then ventured out onto the streets of the Boise-Nampa metropolitan area.

Less than a minute later, though, three huge stone thrones occupied by black-robed figures erupted out of the ground. The figures were not human, even if their faces were masked such that all he could see were their eyes and a little bit of their foreheads. "What is this? And who are you?"

"We are the Cahair Binse, the Chair of Judgment," one of the black-robed demons replied.

"A tribunal of sorts," another of the masked demons added.

"Your fate is the topic of contention. Two must meet in combat; that is the ancient law," said the third demonic judge.

"I do not understand – what crime have I committed? And since I am not of this realm, why should I be subjected to your judgment?" Groo asked in confusion.

"Your questions are irrelevant. Where is your coat of arms?" the first demon demanded.

Groo brought out the disc Whistler had given him. "Do you mean this?"

"Well, I surely don't think they mean the picture engraved on that there shield on the middle throne, do you?" a voice with an odd accent spoke up, before a man dressed in black with a white collar around his neck appeared out of the darkness. He then tossed a bronze disc of his own down onto the ground.

{ _This one is evil,_ } Groo thought to himself, as he threw his coat of arms on top of the other. { _His eyes contain nothing but pure hate and darkness –_ }

"I'm here on a mission, son," the stranger said, coming closer. "The holiest of missions, tell ya the truth. Now, there's gonna be a killing here tonight – on account of out of all the true Lord's servants, I was chosen for this particular task. And you wanna know why? Because my strength lies in my conviction. Amen!"

"You are correct that one of us will die this night. However, it will not be me," Groo replied, taking a step back from the man's suddenly-black eyes. "What is your name?"

"You can call me Caleb," the evil creature grinned. "And you remember that name, 'cause when you get to your heavenly reward? They'll ask you who sent ya there, and I don't want no misunderstandings to occur – "

"ENOUGH!" one of the Cahair Binse judges suddenly shouted. "No more chatter. The trial by combat will begin!"

Two horses appeared out of nowhere, and Groo quickly mounted the horse and took up the shield and lance; just as Caleb did. { _It is a good thing I became familiar with the sacred joust, back in Pylea –_ }

Once the middle judge dropped a red cloth, Caleb kicked the horse's sides with his heels as the steed charged forward.

{ _May the Powers That Be favor me in battle!_ } Groo spurred his own horse forward. They charged at one another and the lances clashed, before both riders were knocked off their mounts.

{ _That actually hurt!_ } Groo thought to himself painfully, as he landed flat on his back on the street. Disregarding that thought immediately, he picked himself up and hurried back to the horse to retrieve the sword from its scabbard.

"Well, now! Ain't this a hoot?" Caleb crowed, and they continued fighting on foot, sword to sword.

{ _How can this be? His sword arm has the strength of twenty men!_ } "What foul magic is this? You are far too strong for a cow," Groo sneered at his opponent, indulging in a bit of psychological warfare as the combatants paused for a moment.

Immediately, Caleb's eyes went pitch-black again. "Is that what you think I am?" He went on the attack once more, even more viciously than before. "Son, you couldn't be more wrong. I'm strong right hand of the one who'll separate the righteous from the wicked, and burn the righteous eternally. The cleansin' fire that'll sweep through this world, and hallelujah – for I am its herald! I'm – "

"The simple-minded cow who talks too much," Groo interjected, abandoning strength for speed and dodging out of the way of Caleb's attacks. He was counting on his opponent getting angry and making a mistake –

"You think your insults have any power over me? HA! You can't stop me, ya filthy half-breed! You understand NOTHING! You-" Caleb roared, moving in for the kill but dropping his guard slightly.

That tiny mistake was all that Groo needed to ram his sword through Caleb's stomach. The black-eyed preacher merely growled, instead of dropping dead; so, reacting on instinct, Groo pushed the enemy away, yanked the blade out and then – moving as fast as he could – he chopped Caleb's head off with one mighty swing.

The decapitated head and body fell to the ground. Groo huffed and puffed a little from the exertion before he said, "I am the one who kills you." He then lowered the sword, turned to the three members of the Cahair Binse and said, "May I ask what happens now?"

"You are victorious, and thus free to go," the main judge said unemotionally. "Head south and your new destiny shall be revealed, in the fullness of time." With that, the Tribunal vanished back underground and Groo was left all alone on the city street.

{ _A new destiny?_ } Groo thought to himself in confusion, before quickly deciding to pick up his backpack and leave the scene of battle. { _There is no point risking the authorities coming to the wrong conclusion, were they to find me here alongside the body. And I wonder what awaits me in the kingdom located south?_ }

* * *

 _A while earlier – Union Station, Los Angeles; early evening:_

Cordelia Chase turned away from the ticket counter, scowling. The trip to Sunnydale had cost quite a bit more than she'd thought it would. Still, she had enough money left for a taxi ride home once she reached her destination, assuming she could find a cab this late at night. Not to mention a bite to eat, even if she didn't have enough time for a proper meal before her train arrived.

Glancing at the clock, she figured that she'd probably be back home before ten. Possibly even by nine-thirty, maybe...

Spying a bank of phones along one wall, Cordelia headed over that way, digging for some change in her handbag. The cost of a call gave her pause, also, but she pushed past it. Higher than she remembered... oh well, never mind.

And, damn it. Just like that police officer had said, there was nothing but a phone company recording for her home number saying that it was no longer in service. Even her room phone got the same result. The hell?

No answer at Xander's house either, damn it. She figured he was probably out patrolling with Buffy. Or at the Bronze. Cordelia entertained a brief fantasy of him running around frantically, searching for her. Heh. Not likely, if it was no longer 1998... he might even have given up on her long ago. Given her up for dead.

No! _**Not**_ Xander. He wouldn't give up on her – _**ever**_. The others, maybe, but not him.

Oh! The high school – Giles might still be at the library, waiting for Buffy's patrol to be finished and his Slayer to report in. Assuming he was still employed there, anyway.

And... crap. This number is no longer a working number. Please check the number and try your call again. She did so, just in case... but, no go. Dead number. What the...

Double crap. She couldn't remember Willow's number. Or Aura's. Or Buffy's. She'd always had her cell phone for that.

Sighing, Cordelia looked around, and then began to head toward the sign that said 'Restrooms'. Passing by the gift shop along the way, a magazine rack caught her eye, along with a cold drinks cooler – so she wandered inside.

At the magazine rack, she nearly fainted. Cordelia recognized the titles, of course: _Vanity Fair_ , _Vogue_ , _Cosmopolitan_ , _News Week_ , _L.A. Times_ , _L.A. Daily News_... but the date...

According to the newspapers, today's date was November 10th, 2002.

{ _No way, that can't be right! I mean, if it is – that means I've lost over four_ _ **years!**_ } Cordelia felt the world spin under her feet, and reality spin away inside her head. Oh ye gods – what the hell had _**happened**_ to her? A part of her, a huge part, wanted to sit down then and there and start bawling like a little girl.

Instead, she grabbed a copy of the _Times_ and the _Daily News_ , went over to the cooler and grabbed a Diet Pepsi, and then headed over to the counter to pay for them.

And from there to the bathroom where she stood for many long moments, staring at her crappy short blond hair and her twenty-one year old face. { _Twenty-two in another couple of months, apparently. Oh. My. God!_ }

"This is so unfair! I'm a semi-ancient twenty-something now? What happened?!" Cordelia wailed, oblivious to the stares of the few other women in the restroom. They finished up hastily and left her to her own devices. "Oh, God – did Xander take some skanky _**bitch**_ to the Prom instead of me? I bet he _**did**_ _–_ I'll kill him!"

Trying to calm down – and eventually succeeding – Cordelia examined her chest, and then cupped her breasts briefly. "Hrmm. Well, I kinda have filled out a lot more. Should make getting Drooler Boy back a lot easier, if nothing else."

Sighing, Cordelia took out a comb and brush and her compact, and set about repairing her crappy hair and her makeup as best she could. Then she departed the restroom to sit and read the _Times_ and the _Daily News_ , and catch up a bit while waiting for her train.

At least Amtrak was a straight shot from L.A. to Sunnydale's railway station. No traffic or traffic jams to slow it down.

* * *

 _A while earlier – foothills of the Santa Ynez mountains, south of Solvang; just after sunset:_

Xander was deep in thought as he drove along the Interstate-101, heading back to the Hellmouth. Unsurprisingly, he was thinking about Faith, and their conversation earlier today. Because despite the Slayer's words to the contrary, he still couldn't help wondering whether he could have done something different, all those years ago –

{ _What, though?_ } an annoying inner voice asked snidely, as he switched off the radio in annoyance, not wanting to listen to the latest hit from Beyoncé. { _OK, maybe you could have phrased things differently that night you confronted Faith in her motel room – but odds are she'd have still tried to strangle you, whatever you said. What else – followed her and Dead Boy to that mansion, tried to help during that so-called 'intervention'? Wes and his goon squad would have still showed up and kidnapped her, and ruined things the same way. Anything after that, she wouldn't have listened to anything you had to say – well, until after the coma, maybe. And even there, trying to convince her to return to the straight and narrow before she stole Buffy's body – she'd have never taken you seriously, even if she_ _ **had**_ _listened to you!_ }

Reluctantly, Xander had to admit that Faith had been right – there was nothing he could have done to prevent her falling from grace. At best, he might have delayed the inevitable for a short while, but that was all. { _Probably better to focus on the future. Including the whole conjugal visit thing_. }

Heh – even though it sounded nice in theory, Xander wasn't sure he could actually go through with that. Sure, he'd let go of his sexual hang-ups a long time ago. Plus, sex with a Slayer was something in a league all of its own, and this particular Slayer had been his first – kinda weird but true – but it hadn't even been a year since –

"No. Don't think about that," he growled to himself, instantly switching the radio back on. To his surprise and delight, Xander heard Frankie Laine singing the classic lyrics of _Rawhide_ –

 _ **Ka-pow!**_

The car swerved violently, before Xander slammed down on the brakes and brought the Ford Taurus to a halt. And he never saw Amy and Whistler vanish into the shadows, afterwards –

TBC…

* * *

A/N: A virtual cookie to anyone who can spot the quote from the movie _Grosse Pointe Blank_ , and truth is...we kinda had to mention the classic song from the _Blues Brothers_ movie as well; the whole "mission from God" from thing :) Anyway, we hope you liked the chapter, especially the fight scene between Groo and Caleb - hey, we wanted to show that there was a reason why the Groosalugg was the sole undefeated warrior of Pylea, namely that he had brains as well as brawn! So please tell us what you thought of the latest chapter - and to quote Buffy back in season one, have a killer weekend!


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

 _Sunday, November 10, 2002 – foothills of the Santa Ynez mountains, south of Solvang; just after sunset:_

{ _Well,_ _ **crap**_ _._ }

For a day that had started out all right, and then even managed to get a bit better, this one was surely taking a sudden slump here near the end.

Xander gave the right rear tire on his Taurus a disgusted look, tempted to kick it. Yup. Flat, all right. Flatter than hell. Pancake. Roadkill. Damn it.

Oh well. If he hadn't decided to do some shopping while he was in Stockton at a few places that Sunnydale just didn't have... and if he hadn't decided to quell the growling in his midsection by stopping for dinner in Pismo Beach –

Well, then he'd have had a flat earlier in the evening, instead of now.

{ _Yeah, but_ _then_ _you would've been stuck up here in the ass end of the Santa Ynez in daylight, probably,_ } his inner smartass told him. { _Not in the early dark looking out over the Santa Ynez Valley, schmuck._ }

Crap. Nothing for it but fix the flat and move on.

Checking his watch, Xander noted the time and decided that even with the delay, he would probably be able to get back to Sunnydale around eight-thirty, maybe a bit before. Not as early as he'd hoped, but still plenty of time to hit the Espresso Pump for a late snack, and pick up some pastries for a quick breakfast in the morning. Giving the tire another disgusted look, he decided that afterward, a cold beer at the Bronze sounded good, too...

Nodding decisively, Xander went around to the trunk for his hydraulic jack and a 4-way. Opening up, he paused for a moment, gazing around uneasily into the approaching darkness.

This far north and west from the Hellmouth, you didn't _**usually**_ tend to find nasties and creepy-crawlies in the dark. Unlike Sunnydale, which was riddled with caves, tunnels, and lairs for all kinds of beasties, south of Solvang was usually a lot less dangerous. Still...

Vampires could turn up anywhere. And so could other things that went chomp in the night.

{ _No point in being stupid or careless, pal._ } Hefting the spare, Xander set it down against the rear bumper, and set the jack down beside it. He subsequently reached past into the trunk well, drew out a stake and tucked into the back of his pants. He then uncased a short barreled pump-action twelve-gauge, and loaded it with eight rounds of alternating FF size steel shot and saboted slug rounds.

Yeah, yeah. Buffy was real big on the whole "Guns? Never useful," attitude.

Especially after getting shot by that asshole Warren, last May.

Xander held a somewhat different opinion on how useful guns were, but it was one that he was tired of arguing with Buffy about. { _Basically because_ _t_ _he_ _Buffster_ _has super-strength and durability, not to mention a comic book healing factor. Whereas, apart from Faith, the rest of us don't._ }

Xander set the shotgun down on its shoulder by the car, and started changing the tire.

* * *

 _A short while later – the Magic Box main counter, Sunnydale; early evening:_

Anya Christina Emmanuella Jenkins, formerly Aud, formerly Anyanka the Demon Patron Saint of Scorned Women, and almost once Mrs. Alexander Harris, swiveled her hips and bounced around the store – doing the dance of capitalist superiority, as she counted out the day's receipts. Giving the neatly arranged stacks of bills a fond pat, she ceased dancing and straightened up, looking down with satisfaction.

Not bad for a day's work, especially a Sunday.

Sighing, she looked around at her magic shop with a mixture of proprietary happiness, satisfaction, and aggravation.

Happiness because, well, the Magic Box was hers. Momma's little money maker. OK, so not completely hers – Buffy's Watcher actually owned it, but still. _**She**_ ran it, did all of the day-to-day work, all of the ordering and stocking, and all of the sales, promotions, and investments. So there – it was hers in all but formal ownership.

Pretty good for a former demon turned high school girl who'd started out with hardly anything to her name, which didn't belong to her fake parents.

Satisfaction because, well, once again – the magic shop was hers. She'd built it practically from the ground up – well, initially with Giles' help and knowledge, of course. And aided and abetted by a deep knowledge of magic and demonology gained over the course of well over a thousand years spent as a vengeance demon.

Aggravation because, well, her store and livelihood had been destroyed when her no-good ex-fiancé's best friend had gone on a rampage and nearly rubbled it. And because her insurance company had had the _**nerve**_ to hire her bride-dumping ex's construction company to do the rebuilding. Grrr. So what if T&P Construction and Contracting was both local, and the most highly thought of commercial construction firm in this part of southern California?

So nothing, if you asked _**her**_. Which they didn't.

Oh well. At least they'd done a superlative job of rebuilding the Magic Box, even if it was under her ex's supervision. Which meant that she had been willing to accept Xander's presence around here after he'd unceremoniously dumped her at the altar.

In a strictly _**professional**_ capacity, of course. The jerk.

Luckily, she'd had lots of insurance for the Magic Box. Otherwise, Anya knew she might have had to live off of her investments and dividends, rather than cheerfully watching them do what they were supposed to be doing – making more money and accruing interest and value.

The soft twittering of the shop's telephone interrupted that train of thought. Quickly pouncing on it, Anya answered the phone chirpily before it could ring a third time. Pushing a wing of brown hair behind her left ear, she spoke into the mouthpiece, "Hi there! You've reached the Magic Box, how may we cheerfully help part you from your discretionary money supply?"

«Hello? Anya?»

"Giles!" she said somewhat happily, before settling down into a more professional demeanor. "What can I do for you?"

«I've been trying to contact Willow and Buffy. Do you know where they are?» the Englishman's voice asked, crackling a bit over the transatlantic connection.

"No, I don't," Anya huffed a little.

The huffiness was well deserved, in Anya's unbiased opinion. OK, maybe not completely unbiased. Still, biased for perfectly good and logical reasons...

Well, they were! After all the events of the previous year, culminating in Black Magic Willow destroying her place of business, she wasn't exactly thrilled about having Buffy and her groupies present in her store any longer; but since Giles was still officially the owner (read silent overseas partner), she was effectively _**obligated**_ to let the Slayer use the training room and allow the Chosen One's friends to do research there.

{ _Which is probably all for the best,_ } Anya admitted grudgingly, { _as otherwise we wouldn't have learned even half as much as we have regarding the First Evil, now that it's popped its non-corporeal head up._ }

The funny thing was that Anya simply couldn't understand what something older than the Old Ones (to quote her dearly departed friend Hallie, Yekk rest her soul) would want with Buffy. Or any of them, but especially the Vampire Slayer. Oh, sure, scourge of the demon world and all that; but these days, Buffy seemed so fixated on Spike it didn't seem like she was being all that scourge-y lately...

Rolling her eyes, Anya said into the phone receiver, "So, why did you want to contact Buffy and Willow?"

«I have some news regarding the First,» Giles' scratchy voice replied, all the way from England.

"Well, it can wait. I need to talk to you about something else!" Anya said a bit snappishly.

«Which is?»

"I don't want any of those people coming to the store any longer, and interfering with my ability to make a profit," she told him in no uncertain terms. "Seriously – I'm trying to run a business here, and they're constantly getting in the way of that!"

Anya could hear Giles sigh tiredly from thousands of miles away. «Running the business properly is important, of course. But Anya, you know perfectly well th-that the training room and research area were set up specifically for Buffy's use in Slayer-related matters. And I see no reason for that to change now.»

"But Giles! Buffy and the rest of them are always getting underfoot, sitting around and eating snack foods at the main table, and disturbing actual customers," Anya said irritably. " _ **Paying**_ customers. Or at least customers that I have a fair and honest chance of convincing to part with my hard-earned income!"

«Yes, I understand what you're saying, Anya,» Giles replied, sounding a bit put out; even if he was doing a good job of sounding as if he was faking that sympathetic tone. «But I-I'm afraid you'll just have to learn to live with their presence, somehow.»

"Live with their presence? Oh, come _**on!**_ I mean, Buffy tried to kill me, not all that long ago! A bit ineptly, considering that she should have remembered that you can't kill a vengeance demon with a sword, after trying it on Hallie," Anya grumped at him. "But _**still**_. Seriously!"

«Well, you can hardly blame her for that, Anya,» the Englishman replied, sighing tiredly on the other end of the line. «I-I mean, from what I heard – you _did_ slaughter nearly an entire fraternity's worth of people with that Wish you granted.»

"Well, it was my job to do that!"

«A job which you should _not_ have been performing within the environs of Sunnydale,» Giles told her, sounding as though he had removed his glasses and was pinching the bridge of his nose. Anya could tell how it had that tight, slightly nasal, and exasperated quality to it. «Given that it's, it's home to a practicing Vampire Slayer.»

"Well, I'm not a vampire. Not that Buffy's actually been _**slaying**_ a lot of them lately, anyway. She forgets the 's' part of that when it comes to Spike, after all," Anya groused. "Well, fine. Be that way. Make it sound like it was all _**my**_ fault. Hrmmph!"

«Anya... » Giles trailed off, sighing heavily again. «Even you must admit that it was more than somewhat foolish of you to be practicing lethal demonic activities directly under Buffy's nose, a-all things considered.»

"Oh, so I'm foolish now?" Anya glared at the telephone heatedly. "Well, just for that, I refuse to let Buffy and her fan club come over here anymore!"

Giles unleashed another audible sigh before Anya heard him say, «A pity, that. It means I'll have to return to Sunnydale so that I can find a new store manager to replace you, then.»

Anya instantly looked alarmed. In the heat of the moment, she'd forgotten that she didn't actually own the magic shop, and that Giles could do that if he wanted to. "What?! Now, wait... there's no need to be hasty about this... "

«Ah. I was hoping, ah, rather against hope actually, that you'd manage to see reason on this matter. Now, as for my previous question?»

Glaring at the phone again, Anya huffed and said tightly, "Fine! I have no idea where Buffy is; Dawn is staying at her friend Janice's, and Willow is doubtless running amok somewhere. If you want, I can leave a message on their voice mail that you called."

«Excellent.» Giles replied, sounding relieved. «Now, about this other matter of the group using the Magic Box for Slayer-related activities... »

In the end, she managed to convince the British man that there was no need for him to return to Sunnydale, by promising that she wouldn't make a fuss if the Scooby Gang showed up at the Magic Box. Any and all of its members, even Xander.

"Although if he _**does**_ show up... " Anya muttered to herself, after hanging up on Giles, "it won't be _**my**_ fault if Harris doesn't exactly enjoy his stay here!"

No doubt that if Dr. Phil had been there, he'd have come up with a comment like "Ain't love grand!" to summarize the situation.

Anya thought to herself that a good poke in the eye would cure Dr. Phil of that in a hurry.

* * *

 _A while later – Sunnydale Railway Station, Sunnydale; night:_

The white, blue and red striped train approached the station, slowing down and the horn blowing before it finally came to a stop. The porter sitting at the platform bench stopped reading his Spider-man comic, got up and called out, "Sunnydale Station! Last stop this line before Goleta," before Cordelia exited out of the railway vehicle.

{ _Home sweet hell_ _,_ } she thought to herself... well, happily, for want of a better word, as the other passengers followed her out of the train.

Hesitating for a moment – hey, it wasn't like she was _**used**_ to traveling by rail – Cordelia then headed for the taxi line outside the station. Checking her watch – 9:35 pm, excellent, she'd made good time in getting here – she hoped that luck would be with her and she'd find a cabbie that could take her home. She didn't care for walking around Sunnydale after dark; 2002 or otherwise, she doubted that the Hellmouth had changed _**that**_ much.

Luck was indeed with her; a solitary taxi was waiting outside, and so Cordelia headed straight for it before anyone else could grab it for themselves. The driver gave her a moment's pause – along with the .45 pistol he had visibly resting in the open center console – but then she figured beggars couldn't be choosers, and all that. The decent-sized crucifix dangling from the rear view mirror made her both smile and frown simultaneously. Because, if you thought about it, the precautions actually made sense for Sunnydale; working the night shift in _**this**_ town was lethally hazardous to your health...

"Where to?" the taxi driver asked suspiciously, as soon as Cordy got into the back seat.

"4 Parkview Crescent."

The man nodded. "You got the money?"

Cordy nodded and held up the money clip, after digging it out of her pocket. She then touched the cross on the ceiling of that side of the taxi, figuring this guy either knew or at least suspected about the night life in Sunnydale, making sure he could see her do it. "So, can we get going now? I've had a loooong night, and I'd just like to go home, OK?"

The driver nodded silently, starting the engine and departing the railway station. Cordelia did her best to ignore his driving style and the pistol she knew was within arm's reach in front of her. { _I'm home, and that's all that matters. Well, almost home anyway..._ }

As they drove down Wilkins Boulevard, though, Cordelia was able to spot how way too many businesses were no longer around, or had changed names or whatever. { _Maybe that cop was right about the whole Rip Van Winkle thing? Or maybe I_ _have_ _woken up in Bizarro World, or another dimension, or something..._ }

All sorts of weird theories, ideas, and half-baked explanations started running through her head. { _Time_ _travel spell? No, wait, I recall Giles once saying something about that sort of thing not being possible. Some kind of Hellmouth glitch, maybe? Better, I guess, but that still doesn't explain why I've lost nearly the past five years – or why I woke up in freaking Los Angeles! And jeez, I don't even want to think about the other possible explanations – like an alien abduction, or getting trapped in an episode of the freaking Twilight Zone. For one thing, I'm Cordelia Chase – and no one_ _does anal probes or whatever, on_ _me_ _! And for another, hello, I was planning to be an actress after high school's over? I wanna_ _ **star**_ _in a TV show, not fricking_ _ **live**_ _in one!_ }

"We're here," the cab driver said abruptly after slowing down and pulling over, drawing Cordelia out of her thoughts. "That'll be ten bucks."

"OK, I... oh, what the _**hell**_ _ **?!**_ " Cordelia yelped, spying something totally unexpected whilst looking out the window. Namely, her home having become a long-vacant and abandoned-looking wreck, with an IRS foreclosure sign out front – and a rusty realtor's FOR SALE sign on the front gates.

"No, no, NO!" Cordelia screamed as she immediately scrambled out of the taxi, heading for the mansion's front gates.

"Hey! HEY! Come back here! This ain't no free-ride service!" the cabbie shouted angrily, grabbing the .45 pistol.

But Cordelia was deaf to his orders, her heart full of horror and pain as she examined the wreck that used to be her home. Through the wrought-iron gates she could see the unmowed lawn, the front guest house with its windows smashed in (probably thanks to some high school kids breaking into the property on a dare) and the mansion itself without a single light on anywhere. Which simply made no _**sense**_...

The taxi cab came all the way up to the main gates, swerving madly and just barely missing her. "Hey!" the driver yelled, angrily. "You didn't pay your fare before exiting the vehicle!" The gun wasn't pointed at her, exactly, but it wasn't resting on the passenger seat anymore either.

Cordelia turned to the man, still lost in pain and bewilderment. "What happened here?" she asked, looking dazed and confused and gesturing at the IRS lien sign.

"What do ya mean?"

"This house... " Cordelia trailed off hesitantly, not sure how much to reveal about herself and her situation to this person. "What happened to the Chase family? The people that used to live here?"

"What do I look like to you, lady, an information kiosk or something?" the driver demanded, looking exasperated.

" _ **Please**_ ," Cordy practically begged the man, which said a lot about the levels of her personal distress right now. She _**never**_ begged anyone for anything, period. "If you know anything, please tell me?"

The cab driver frowned. "I dunno... it was three, maybe four years ago? I don't remember much... "

"Anything you know. Please," Cordy said, moving back towards the vehicle.

The driver shrugged, scowling. "There was something in the town paper about, y'know, rich folks becoming poor folks – I think that David Chase guy ended up in Federal prison, for tax fraud or embezzlement or something? IRS forfeiture, yeah, that was it. Whatever, it's none of my business. Now pay up, so that I can get outta here!"

The words echoing madly in her head, Cordelia just stood there for a moment – before mechanically getting back into the cab and asking the driver to take her to the Harris residence, at 17619 White Oak Drive. Grumbling, the driver agreed to do so before they left the empty mansion behind.

{ _Tax fraud, or embezzlement?_ } Cordelia thought dazedly to herself. { _Oh. My. God. Daddy, what have you done? What did you_ _ **do**_ _,_ _way back when? And what about Mother? What the hell happened to_ _her_ _? Good grief, I've gotten trapped in some kind of nightmare..._ }

That thought only became more apt in Cordelia's mind, as she soon discovered that Xander's house was likewise dark and empty; there was a realtor's FOR SALE sign on the front lawn, with what looked like several months' worth of stacked-up yellowing newspapers on the porch. She didn't even bother getting out of the cab this time – she just stared out through the window, feeling numb.

{ _OK, so where to now, genius? The only other place where Xander might be living is his Uncle Rory's place, and_ _he_ _lives way out past Ojai,_ } Cordelia cogitated dully. { _Not that I'd, like, mind seeing Rory right about now – he'd at least be something_ _ **sane**_ _in all of this – but I don't have enough money for a cab ride out there. And what if_ _he's_ _gone too, or_ _dead_ _or something? God – this really_ _sucks_ _. I've fallen down the rabbit hole, and now I can't get out of Bizarro World!_ }

Likewise, Buffy and Willow's houses were dark and unoccupied tonight, as she soon discovered; but at least there were no FOR SALE signs or foreclosure notices at either of them. Plus, apparently Giles didn't live in his condo anymore: some stranger answered the door, and even the Kendalls were away somewhere. Cordelia wasn't sure she really wanted to see Harmony right now, anyway, because that ditz would probably get far too much enjoyment out of seeing her reduced to this state... but by this point, almost anyone familiar would have been welcome. Even Harmony.

Unable to think of anywhere else to go, Cordelia decided to head for the Bronze in the hope that she'd find Xander or someone – _**anyone**_ she knew, who could explain to her what the hell was going on, and what had happened to the people she'd been counting on finding tonight. And yet, when they finally arrived at the nightclub – which thank God was still there, just as the cab driver had assured her – Cordelia was rather reluctant to get out of the car and check the place out...

She'd already had _**enough**_ shocks for one night, thank yew verra much.

But the cabbie started checking his watch and said, "Come on, lady, I don't wanna park out here all night – make up your mind, already!" He left unsaid that she had racked up quite the fare by this point, and that she probably couldn't afford going anywhere else.

Grumbling under her breath, Cordy gave the man his money; and the taxi driver quickly roared off, the car's tires smoking, leaving her behind while she was still counting the change. "Hey! Jerkoff. And to think Xander used to call _**me**_ a bad driver... "

Jeez. And good grief, even. OK, so that ate up way too much of her available money. Not that she'd ever been in the habit of taking cab rides around Sunnydale, but she wouldn't have thought they were _**that**_ expensive. Then again – operating a taxi after dark in Sunnydale. Yeah, maybe she'd have charged a premium for that service, if she were risking her neck – literally, in _**this**_ town – doing something like that.

Still, if she didn't run into Xander or anyone else she knew here, then she had to figure out where to go to spend the night safely – because for damned sure, she wasn't gonna be able to afford anything more than one short taxi ride from here.

Cordelia's stomach suddenly rumbled loudly. OK, a cappuccino and a muffin to snack on. That and one more ride anywhere would leave her dead broke, not just low on cash.

Ummm... _**flat**_ broke, that is. { _Let's not go with the dead metaphors, girl,_ } she thought to herself, gazing uneasily around the parking lot. { _Not in_ _this_ _town._ }

Squaring her shoulders, Cordelia headed towards the Bronze, paying the minor cover charge and entering the nightclub. The place looked different – it had obviously been rebuilt and remodeled at some point over the years, and fairly recently, too. But looking around inside, Cordelia felt lost all over again: she could recognize _**no one**_...

Well, it _**was**_ a teen and young adult club, after all. Plus, almost five years. In that context, it wasn't surprising that all the sixteen- to eighteen-year-old patrons were completely unfamiliar to her. She then looked around at the staff, but again she could recognize no one. Still, that wasn't very surprising either; the Bronze had always had a high level of staff turnover, just like a lot of bars and fast food restaurants in this town.

"Damn it," Cordelia cursed, before going up to the bar. At this time of night, she didn't want to risk going to find that snitch named Willy, or whatever his name was, that Xander had mentioned recently. She just said to the barman, "Hi! Have you seen Xander Harris around here tonight?"

The blond-haired and kinda pimply-looking bartender just stared at her. Quickly getting the idea and rolling her eyes, Cordelia said huffily, "Fine, I'll have a cappuccino! Um... cinnamon, chocolate, half-caf, nonfat. Oh! And extra foam, of course!"

"Coming right up," the twenty-something bartender said mechanically, as he began to prepare her order.

"Good. So, how about it? Have you seen my boyfriend or not?" she demanded, even though the barman seemed to have forgotten the question.

Giving her a slightly annoyed look, he glanced at the other customers lining the bar. Apparently seeing that none of them were exactly clamoring for attention, the bartender shrugged and looked back at her. "Harris? Kinda tall guy with dark hair? Hangs out with a tiny blond and redhead?"

Cordelia nodded and said, maybe a bit too excitedly, "Yeah! Wears obnoxious fashion disaster shirts, like, way too often?"

The bartender gave her a blank look at that, like he didn't pay much attention to what guys wore, but said, "Not since... Wednesday night? Naw, Friday. Came in for a quick beer, played some pool with that English guy, and left. Hasn't been back since."

{ _English guy..._ } Cordelia blinked at him, at a loss for the moment. { _Xander was playing pool with Giles? Seriously? Well, I guess it's not impossible, but jeez... I never expected something like that!_ }

"Cordelia?"

She whirled around at the sound of that familiar-sounding voice, and nearly sobbed with relief. "Devon? _**Devon!**_ "

Cordy hugged him at once, so glad to finally find someone she recognized that it never crossed her mind to wonder why her flake of an ex-boyfriend was present here tonight. "Oh, am I glad to see you! I swear, this entire night has been just a complete _**nightmare**_. I haven't been able to find anyone, and don't evenget me started on what's happened to my _**house**_ _–_ "

"Babe," the handsome musician and lead singer she used to date interrupted her rant smoothly. "Slow down. Rewind, even. You're not making any sense, here. And I got things to do and places to be, ya know?" Throwing a smirking grin at his companion, he added, "Girls to do, actually."

"Uggh," Cordy groaned, instantly reminded of why she'd dumped Devon in the first place. { _Still the same self-centered, egotistical, loudmouth_ _jerk_ _... oh, never mind. So not the time for that!_ }

Nodding at Devon's companion, she realized that she kind of vaguely recognized him too. Jason, Jimmy, something or other... Jace! That was it. Jace something, the drummer for the Dingoes Ate My Baby, Devon and Oz's old band back in high school. Huh, OK... obviously, the both of them went heavy metal hair band or something in the years since. Mucho on the black leather and studs. So not a good look for either of them...

Well, OK, the black leather pants did look pretty hot on _**Devon**_ – but then he'd always been a really good-looking jerk, for a jerk.

"Hi, Jace," Cordelia said, throwing the beefy redhead a nod and a smile. "Look... listen, Devon, I'm looking for Xander or Willow or Buffy or... well, _**any**_ of my friends, really. Have you seen them in here tonight?" she asked hopefully.

Devon's eyes widened appreciably. "Xander Harris? You're looking for _**that**_ guy? After all this time? And after what happened between you?"

"What's _**that**_ supposed to mean?" Cordy snapped automatically, a bit more acerbically than she'd meant to.

"Oh, nothing, I guess," Devon shrugged and shook his head. "Anyway, the answer's no. Haven't seen him since Oz left town, way back when."

"Oz is gone?" Cordelia echoed in confusion, before pulling herself back together. It was late 2002 now, damn it, not May 7th 1998 like she'd thought it was after waking up in that el creepo hotel. She guessed that it wasn't all that surprising how the guitarist with the multi-colored hair and nails fetish might have moved on... especially if something had happened between him and Willow.

Oz always was a bit too cool for this one-Starbucks town, anyway. Never mind.

"Yeah, he moved on after him and the redhead ended up on the outs," Jace said, shrugging casually. "Heard he turned her gay or something. Really broke him up." He and Devon bumped fists, laughing a bit nastily at that.

"Turned her... _**Willow?**_ _ **Gay?!**_ " Cordelia shook that one off along with the rapidly encroaching feeling of entering the Twilight Zone again. "No, never mind. Look, Devon, I kinda need you to help me right now, OK? Do you have a car – or even that van you used to use for the band, when we were dating?"

"Yeah, it's parked out in the lot. You want a lift somewhere?" Devon smiled as he said that, for some reason that Cordelia couldn't understand. "What, no rich girl car anymore?"

{ _Oh, of course. It's so_ _ **very**_ _funny seeing Cordelia Chase having to beg for a ride,_ } she thought to herself in annoyance. "Well, duh! So apparently not. And yeah, I need a ride," she said imperiously. "So, what are we still doing here?"

"Your cappuccino, Miss!" the bartender abruptly intruded into the conversation, having finally finished with Cordelia's order.

"What? Oh, right! Uh, I'll have to take that order to go, thanks. Is that OK?" Cordelia asked the barman, who simply shrugged and nodded, placing the beverage in one of the Bronze's disposable capped cups before she shoved some money at him and prepared to walk out of the club with Devon and Jace. "Are we out of here?"

"Hey, girl's in a hurry, bro," Jace said, snickering. Devon smirked and made a sweeping 'after you' bowing motion. Not wasting any time, Cordelia slid off her stool and began heading for the door.

"So, babe, where do you wanna go?" Devon asked casually, as he led the way to his vehicle.

"That's what I wanna figure out," Cordelia mused. { _I've already_ _been_ _to most of the places I'd automatically head for, whenever the weirdness hits! Well, except for..._ }

"The high school," she said out loud, looking up at her ex-boyfriend as they walked. "Hopefully Xander will be there, even at this time of night. Maybe Willow, Giles, and Buffy, too."

"The Slayer," Devon replied, a brief look of distaste appearing on his face.

"You know about that, nowadays?" Cordelia frowned, slowing down a little.

"Well, yeah," Devon said, shrugging and putting a hand to the small of her back. He gave her a slight nudge forward. "After that thing with the giant snake demon at Graduation? Hell, babe – _**everyone**_ knows."

"Giant snake demon... " Cordelia trailed off, feeling overwhelmed by the weirdness and the sense of having fallen through the Looking Glass again. Then she _**looked**_ at her former boyfriend, a lot more carefully than before. It was Devon, sure, but there was something... something she couldn't quite put her finger on, despite how familiar he...

{ _Oh, God, no!_ } It was nearly 2003 nowadays... but Devon didn't _**look**_ like a guy his age! He had been an eighteen-year-old senior like Oz, back when she was a junior. Now, though... He looked barely a year or so older than when she'd known him, like maybe twenty at the most, not five years older, which meant...

"You're a vampire!" Cordelia screamed, quickly moving away from him. And then she screamed again when Devon sighed and his face morphed into that of a monster; the yellowed-eyed, bumpy forehead demon she had become oh-so-familiar with since the end of sophomore year. "You're a vampire!"

"Very good! And you're still the same shrill-voiced yet gorgeous piece of ass I remember," Devon smiled sadistically at her. "Sweet, not very petite, and oh-so-good to eat."

"Hey, not like _**you**_ ever found out," Cordelia said, her mouth running almost on reflex. "Or ever will!"

Still smirking, Devon stalked forward, heading towards his prey as Cordelia backpedaled nervously. "Come on, babe – what's with the attitude? Trust me, you're gonna _**love**_ immortality!"

"Ewww! As if!" she said scathingly, shaking her head.

Hands grabbed her upper arms from behind. Oh crap... she'd forgotten about the drummer guy. Vampire too, no doubt. Well, duh. "And if you think you're getting anywhere near _**my**_ neck, think again, mister! Suck on _**this**_ _ **!**_ " With that, Cordelia ripped the cap off of her cappuccino, and then threw the steaming hot liquid back over her shoulder and directly into Jace's face.

The Bronze may not have ever made the best cappuccino around, but it surely made up for it in _**hot**_.

"AGGGHHHH! YOU BITCH!" the soulless vampire yelled furiously, his clawed hands letting go of her arms and automatically heading for his burned face as Cordy turned and ran for it. "Oh, you're gonna _**pay**_ for that!"

Oh, no, the hell with that. Not if one Cordelia Chasehad anything to say about it –

TBC…

* * *

A/N: Yes, we know the X/C reunion has been somewhat delayed, but trust us: it's coming in the next chapter! And hopefully, no one minds that we made Devon into a vampire? As far as we could determine, there's no mention of him anywhere in any canon source we could find beyond season 4 - the character just sorta faded out of existence - so in this AU, after Oz briefly came back to Sunnydale, Devon got himself turned into one of the undead. Hey, we needed _someone_ familiar to be the Little Bad for Cordelia to run into! Anyway, thanks as always to everyone for reading and reviewing, and please keep the feedback coming! Even though the reviews aren't showing up on the site (what is _wrong_ with the reviews section nowadays?) we still get notification of submission and will respond with a PM, we promise. So, tell us what ya think!


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

 _Sunday, November 10, 2002 – Xander's apartment, Sunnydale; night:_

Quickly glancing around the bedroom whilst trying to think of how to spend the evening, Spike then stared up at the ceiling, wondering how his un-life had come to this. All of the turmoil and chaos of the previous year, and then having his solution to it pretty much blow up in his face – and leave him even more screwed up and confused than he'd been before.

Woulda been a lot simpler if that damned demon in Senegal had turned him back to what he _**was**_ after them Trials, like he'd asked for. Not into something he'd never been and didn't know how to deal with. After all, who in their right mind would take that demand and decide that it meant he wanted to be a vampire with a soul?

Not a monster, and definitely not a man. A vampire caught halfway between the two, not knowing how to be either one anymore, and still with that bleedin' chip in his head.

He distinctly remembered saying, "So you'll give me what I want? Make me what I was. So Buffy can get what she deserves." But the stupid incompetent ponce had buggered _**that**_ simple request to hell 'n back!

Oh, he understood why the demon hadn't just removed the chip and made him back into the vampire Drusilla had created, way back when. What he had been. The Slayer didn't deserve that. But why couldn't that bloody thing have turned him all the way back into _**human**_ William? Not that whimpering, bookish little nebbish with his gawd-awful poetry and mother fixation, o' course, but... sodding hell. If that cave demon had humanized him with his memories of the past hundred and twenty years intact, maybe he could have –

{ _No. Slayer wasn't 'appy with Captain Cardboard, she wouldn't go fer William Pratt either._ }

Absently, Spike figured that one of these days, he'd explain to Buffy just why she needed a little monster in her man. Because she couldn't be satisfied or happy with just the human thing, now, could she? She needed someone who could equal and complement her in all ways. Last year, he'd thought that 'someone' was himself...

{ _At least until she told me she didn't love me. That she could never love me. And then I went and almost... no, don't wanna think about_ _ **that**_ _. Not now. Not ever!_ }

Still. Lying around staring at the ceiling and brooding wasn't accomplishing anything either, was it?

No! Not _**brooding**_ , damn it. Soul he may have, but he wasn't the gelled-hair ponce – always grumping and moaning about his guilt and mooning over his past misdeeds. Misdeeds that Spike was pretty sure the wanker actually kind of enjoyed remembering – probably where all of Angel's brooding came from.

He then heard the front door open, and footsteps travel through the living room and down the short hallway past his cubbyhole bedroom. Not long after he heard rummaging sounds, followed by the slamming of the bathroom door and water running in the shower.

{ _Great. Droopy Boy's home._ }

Ah well. Maybe his unwilling flatmate would be up for a spot of pool at the Bronze, or heading out to Willy's to roust a few demons. Even if they didn't particularly like each other... hell, most of the time, they couldn't bloody well stand each other, and he was pretty sure that Harris occasionally hated his guts... the whelp wasn't half-arsed bad in a brawl, even if Spike figured he'd be the last person or demon to actually tell him that.

Screw it. Give him a few to finish up his shower, and then wander out and see. Couldn't hurt, and it beat the hell out of lying here or trying to find something worthwhile on the Sunday night telly.

Once the water shut off and the rummaging sounds disappeared in the other bedroom, Spike sat up, stretching. Giving it a little while longer for Harris to get settled, he walked out the bedroom door, and sure enough – the bloke was sitting on the couch, looking through a photo album. { _What the heck, guess it beats watching Passions reruns..._ }

Shrugging, Spike told the human, "I'm headin' for the Bronze, or maybe Willy's. You – "

"Great. Have fun – and don't let the door hit your ass on the way out," the git interrupted absently, still focused on the pictures he was looking at.

{ _OK. So much for inviting the putz out for a spot of pool and demon bashing._ }

Looking up after a moment to find him still standing there and scowling, Harris scowled back and said, "What? Forgot where the door is already? Too much hair dye leaking into your brain?"

Well, _**naturally**_ , he couldn't just leave after hearing the sodding arse pop off with something like that. He bloody well knew Harris disliked and probably even hated him because of what he'd almost done to Buffy last year; but in Spike's view, that didn't mean giving the whelp a free pass to insult him whenever he liked. So he strolled over to the couch and said, "Wotcher lookin' at, mate?" before snatching the album away.

"Hey, give that back!" Xander said angrily, getting up off the couch and grabbing at the album.

Spike only had time for a brief glimpse of a high school graduation photo of Harris and that brunette bint he'd used to run around with before Anya had entered the scene, but that glimpse was enough for him to guess what was going through the useless arsehole's mind. So he released the book, before their struggle over it ripped the bloody thing apart.

"The cheerleader with the big knockers? Indulging in a bit of nostalgia tonight, are we?" Spike smirked. "Kinda surprised, actually. Thought that bird had flown out of yer mind years ago."

"What are you talking about?" Harris demanded, looking annoyed.

"Well, ya got caught cheating on her with Red, ya pillock! And I heard 'ow that chit got injured 'cause you couldn't restrain yerself back then. So why'd you want to be reminded of her?" Spike demanded, honestly curious.

"You know," Harris replied, his voice now low and angry. "Considering that _**you**_ were the reason that Will and I were trapped in that damn factory in the first place, and so it's partly your fault that Cordy got injured that way – that might not be the best part of Memory Lane to go walking down, Fangless."

Spike winced internally at the sudden pang of guilt that went through him, not really knowing what to do with it, and so he shook it off angrily. Not letting his emotions show on his face, he just shrugged and flipped a hand dismissively. "Just sayin' is all, mate. Didn't she pretty much stomp on yer heart and bugger off to the big city, never to be seen again? So wotta ya want to be dredging up old pains like that for, anyway?"

It came out a lot kinder and gentler-sounding than Spike had intended it to, and he hated himself for it. But blast it all, anyway – not like he hadn't seen and felt his share of that sort o' thing.

"I could ask you the exact same question where Buffy's concerned. Y'know, after what happened six months ago," Xander fired back, the angry look deepening on his face.

"That's different, that is," Spike replied uncomfortably, suddenly wishing he'd just left instead of deciding to bait Harris a little.

"Yeah? How? And I swear, I still don't get why Slay-gal did the whole 'forgive and forget' routine for what happened that night. If I was her, I'd have staked you the moment you showed your face in Sunnydale again – insane-o fruitcake or otherwise," the useless bricklayer spat.

"Good thing fer me you're not her, then," Spike said somewhat flippantly, shaking his head. He sighed and began heading toward the front door. "Anyway, like I said, I'm heading out – "

"I went to see Faith today," Harris said somewhat abruptly, causing him to pause and turn back to stare at the bloke in confusion. The ponce then elaborated, "The _**other**_ Slayer? The one who's in prison, upstate? She told me that you met her while she was driving Buffy's body around, way back when. Made some kinda comment about you popping like warm champagne?"

At once, Spike had a flashback to that night in the Bronze when Buffy had acted so... un-Buffylike. Then he focused and said, "Yeah, so?"

"Faith asked me _**why**_ you got your soul back, pal. Then she made some kinda comment about how, after Angel set the trend, all the cool kids are following in his footsteps. Kinda made me wonder, ya know?"

Spike immediately scowled and glowered at the construction worker. "I'm _**not**_ some bloody copycat, Harris! And even if I was, the Magnificent Poof is the _**last**_ vampire whose footsteps I'd want to follow in!"

"Gee, Spike, no reason to get so upset. And hey – I'm sure I'm not the only one in our little social circle who's been wondering why you did what you did, last year. And is it _**my**_ fault that the most likely reason you went all soul-having like your undead grandpa, is that you're trying to compete with his memory in Buffy's heart? Even if we both know that's, like, completely pointless?"

Harris then smirked knowingly, "It must just eat you up that he got there first... "

Snarling, Spike spun on his heel and started heading for the apartment's front door. "Bugger this!"

"If you say so." Xander smirked again, as he sat down on the couch and resumed looking through his photo album. "Couldn't help noticing you didn't deny it, though."

Fuming, Spike stalked out of the apartment, slamming the front door shut as he did so.

* * *

 _A minute or so later – outside of the Montgomery apartment complex in north-eastern Sunnydale; night:_

Amy watched as the platinum-haired figure in black jeans exited the apartment building, glanced around, and then stomped off into the night. { _OK, good. One down, one to go..._ }

After another ten minutes or so, another figure exited the building, heading out toward a burgundy car in the front parking lot. Amy watched as the young man entered the vehicle, and then the Ford Taurus backed out of the parking slot. It subsequently drove off, heading for the town's central business district.

{ _Still can't believe that different circumstances, I'd have ended up an item with Xander freaking Harris,_ } Amy thought to herself, as she vanished into the shadows – and then reappeared within Xander's apartment. { _OK, so I heard from Willow – assuming that bitch wasn't lying to me – that Xander's some kinda Viking in the sack, nowadays. Well, according to that Anya person, anyway, when she was boasting about their sex life. But the great sex alone wouldn't have been enough for a long-term relationship, would it? Can't help thinking it's pretty unlikely, anyway._ }

Amy shook her head, forcing such thoughts away and locking them up in a mental cupboard with a huge padlock. Like Whistler had said – whatever might have happened all those years ago, the reality was that she and Xander were nothing but distant acquaintances, here and now – and given his attachment to his red-haired best friend, not exactly friendly ones, either. { _Better to focus on the mission. Not that Whistler has really explained_ _ **why**_ _all this needs to be done, of course, but still._ }

Amy brought out the Orb of Thesulah, and looked at the misty white light that was trapped within it. She set it down on Xander's breakfast bar and chanted, "Lansare!"

The white mist was immediately released from the Orb, which went dark. For a moment, the immortal soul of Dennis Pearson was visible to Amy's eyes – before it vanished from sight. Amy frowned, "Dennis? Dennis, are you here?"

The lights briefly flickered on and off, which Amy took as a 'yes'. "OK, good, I was afraid for a moment that the anchoring spell didn't work. Now remember – you need to keep a low profile until it's time to reveal yourself, understood? Don't let either Xander or Cordelia know you're here, until you have to."

Again, the lights flickered on and then off again, but Amy got the impression that Phantom Dennis wanted to know why she'd told him to do that. "Because Cordelia doesn't know who you are anymore, that's why! She thinks she's still seventeen, she'll freak out over the presence of a ghost – and Xander probably won't be much better. I know it sucks for you, but – well, that's just the way it is. And according to Whistler, this is the best way Cordelia will get any happiness out of this whole amnesia deal. And that's what's important to you, right?"

The lights flickered yet again, in a way that indicated acceptance to her. So Amy nodded, and after a few long moments, she added softly, "Right. Well, good luck, Dennis. And keep an eye out for anything apocalyptic, for all our sakes!"

Grabbing the Orb, Amy took one last look around the Harris apartment. Then, stepping back, she simply faded into the shadows and vanished from sight.

* * *

 _A few moments later – Osgood Avenue, not far from the Bronze, Sunnydale; night:_

Frigging Spike. Faith had been right: he really _**should**_ just stake the bleached-hair menace and put him out of everyone's misery. Sighing, Xander shook his head and did his best to simply shove all thoughts of the vampire out of his mind.

At least he'd managed to grab a shower and change, after spending way too much time struggling with that flat. And he'd _**finally**_ managed to get to the Espresso Pump just before it closed, so he could get himself coffee and a snack and something to munch on for the morning. Jeez.

It was like the universe was freaking conspiring to keep him from getting to the Bronze in time to enjoy a simple beer and maybe a quick round of knocking balls around a pool table, before calling it a night.

He'd damned near said, 'the hell with it,' and just swung by Willy's to knock back a brewski while glaring at the local vamps, and shoot the shit with the weasel-y bartender -slash- snitch. But that felt _**way**_ too much like showing the flag and working, and this was his night off, damn it.

Besides, there was something itching at the back of his mind that he really should just keep to plan and hit the Bronze tonight. No reason he could put his finger on; just a nagging suspicion that since Buffy didn't always include it on her usual patrols these days, someone should drop in and scope the place out. It _**was**_ a favorite hunting ground for the teen vamp population, after all...

Turning the wheel, Xander slowed down and pulled into the parking lot of the nightclub, feeling himself tense up almost immediately.

Case in point, right there.

And oh, great and wonderful – freaking Devon and one of his undead buddies, with some college-age girl running for her life away from them. Right out in the main parking lot.

{ _Nice curves on that babe,_ } Xander noted appreciatively as he cut around the end of the first row of parked cars, straightening the wheel and hitting the gas. { _Shouldn't be wearing heels, though. Can't run in them worth a damn –_ }

{ _And hey,_ _hi_ _there, Devon. Pause and look up at the sound of the racing engine,_ _ **that's**_ _a good vamp._ }

Wincing as the impact crunched the front bumper and grill of his Taurus – damn, it was gonna cost to get that fixed – Xander winced again as the former lead singer of the Dingoes rolled across the hood and up over the windshield, flying back to land somewhere behind the car. Starring the frickin' windshield on his way over, damn it.

{ _Yup. Definitely gonna pay for getting that fixed, too._ } Ignoring that unwelcome thought and stomping down on the brakes, Xander reached down into the passenger footwell and grabbed the pistol grip of the compact crossbow he kept there, and then shoved the driver's side door open.

It smashed the other vamp across the knees and midsection, just as he was turning around to face the car. Mouth open and a look of stupid surprise on the demonic face, vamp the drummer boy went staggering back...

One down.

One to go.

Xander unfolded himself up and out of the driver's seat, bringing the crossbow over and down to bear as he stood.

Just another night on the Hellmouth.

* * *

 _A few moments previously – the Bronze parking lot, Sunnydale; night:_

Unfortunately, it seemed as if Vamp Devon's prediction was very likely to come true, damn it – still wearing the same heels she'd had on in L.A. only a few short hours ago, Cordelia could no more outrun the two soulless demons than she could escape from Ratty, Stringy and their friends on Hyperion Avenue. She tried to head for the Bronze, but just as Devon was about to grab her...

"HEY!"

The roar of a car engine and a squeal of tires on asphalt gave her an unexpected break. Devon stopped, whipping around to face the source of the noise, and Jace halted as well, beginning to turn. "Watch where you're driving, you moron!" the undead drummer shouted.

Cordelia didn't. She threw one fast glance over her shoulder and put on a burst of speed to gain some distance, and kept running. Unfortunately, she only made it about six more steps before one of the stupid heels turned under her, and she went down on one knee and the palm of her hand. { _Ow!_ }

{ _Stupid heels. Maybe the glance back was a mistake,_ } Cordelia reflected to herself.

The next moment, a burgundy and silver Ford Taurus came straight at Devon, smacking into him at full speed. There was a crunch of metal and composites, and a roar of pain from the soulless vampire. Devon flew up and over the hood of the car and into the windshield, rolling and thumping up and over and disappearing somewhere way to the back of the vehicle.

The driver was already slamming on the brakes and slewing the wheel over, as a harsh THUD! came from the pavement behind the rear bumper.

Jace snarled something obscene and took three long steps toward the rapidly stopping car, only to have the driver's door slam open and take him across both knees and the belly. He went staggering back and away from the car as fast as he'd moved in on it, and a lot more unsteadily.

And oh ye gods, _**Xander**_ unfolded himself out of the driver's seat and stood up behind the opening door, with a loaded crossbow in one hand.

"Hi there, Jace," her boyfriend said cheerfully, with a slightly manic expression. "Didn't they tell you that the Bronze doesn't do fast food anymore?"

"Fuck you, Harris," Jace snarled out, straightening in what looked like a painful manner. "Always the wise a-"

A loud twang was easily heard as Xander triggered the pistol-gripped crossbow, and a wooden bolt flashed through the chest of the undead drummer, right at heart level. Jace stopped in mid-snarl and a startled expression briefly crossed his face, before he exploded into dust with the horrible whistling shriek of an escaping demon.

"Xander?" Cordelia couldn't believe her eyes. She'd been driving around this whole freaking town looking for him, and now suddenly the Doofus pops up right in the nick of time in order to rescue her? Not that she was complaining or anything...

" _ **Xander!**_ "

They both heard a thudding clatter of boots on sheet steel, and Devon lurched up over the trunk of the Taurus and onto the roof like a drunken Frankenstein.

"Aw, crap... " Xander said, turning. Dropping the crossbow, he reached for a stake tucked into his belt, as a seriously pissed-off vampiric Devon launched himself off of the roof of the car and onto him.

Both of them went down and over backwards, Devon on top. Xander somehow managed to get a leg and a foot up between him and the vampire, and shoved up and out with it while pulling down with the hand that had grabbed a fistful of Devon's shirt. The undead lead singer went up and over Xander's head, to land sprawling on the pavement way too near to her.

{ _Indian rifle throw,_ } was the first thought that passed through Cordelia's mind. { _That's what Xander and Jesse always used to call that thing... the fall backward and throw from all those idiotic Western TV shows we used to watch as little kids..._ }

Devon flashed her a hideous smile full of fangs, and snarled, "Don't go anywhere, babe – I'll be right back!" as he lurched up onto his feet. Foot – one leg didn't seem to be working right.

Xander threw himself at Devon, cursing, stake held ready and coming down. But the vampire grabbed her boyfriend's staking arm by the wrist with one hand and his shoulder with the other, and they began to struggle. Cordelia watched them do so while scrambling to her feet, part elated and part worried that now that she had _**finally**_ found who she'd been looking for – she was going to lose him to a stupid, idiotic _**vampire!**_

"God damn it!" She decided to join the fight, and attacked Devon from behind, shoving both him and her boyfriend down to the ground. They ended up on the hard concrete of the parking lot with Devon sandwiched between Xander on the bottom, and Cordelia on the top. Luckily, with her weight on top of him and Xander's leverage against the ground, Devon could no longer hold back the stake, and it plunged into his chest.

With the hissing scream of a suddenly ejected demon, the one-time Dingoes' lead singer exploded into ashes between them, the inner skeleton visible for one timeless moment – and then Cordelia collapsed down on top of Xander. Ow. Freaking stake.

Still, she wasn't going to complain –

"Oh, God, Xander!" Cordelia cried out in combined passion and relief, throwing her arms around his neck as she started kissing him passionately. She was so overwrought with emotion, so relieved and happy to see him, the action was as instinctive as it was desirable in her mind.

Vaguely, Cordelia figured her boyfriend had to be... surprised, to say the least. After all, they'd been apart for almost five years now and there was no telling what terms they'd parted on.

The hell with it. Right now, Cordelia definitely didn't care about all that. And to be honest – the Dweeb didn't seem to be in any great hurry to end the kiss, either.

Wasn't even that surprising. Not like he was a stranger to having her tongue mine for his tonsils.

"Mmmmmm," Xander moaned, the concrete crunching under his back a little as Cordelia kept attempting to devour his tongue. "Mmm! Cordy?" he finally managed to say, after tearing his lips away from hers.

"Xander – " she replied, before her expression froze up. Hastily lifting herself off of him, she scrambled back while staring at Harris in sudden horror.

"What is it, Cor? What's wrong?" Xander asked her in concern.

"You're, you're... you're _**old**_ _ **!**_ " Cordelia blurted out, looking horrified. She jumped hastily to her feet, stumbling a bit on that stupid broken heel again.

"I'm _**what?**_ "

Looking completely befuddled, Xander managed to get up onto his feet a bit slower and more awkwardly than she had. OK, not much more awkwardly – _**he**_ wasn't wearing heels. The jerk.

"You're not seventeen anymore! You're an old-looking twenty-something! OK, don't get me wrong, it looks good on you – hell, it looks _**great**_ on you, but that's not the _**point**_ _ **!**_ " she ranted, almost directly in his face. "Damn it, Dork – what's going on? Why did I wake up in some weird hotel in L.A. with a bunch of losers I didn't even know, and Evil Angel of all people – did I get kidnapped by Angelus or something? And why am I looking like, like _**this?**_ "

"Huh?" Harris looked like he honestly didn't get any of that. Cordelia wanted to slap him one for it. Or burst into tears. She wasn't quite sure which one she wanted to do first, so she settled for continuing to yell at him.

"And why are all the newspapers and magazines I've read tonight telling me it's been nearly five years since the last thing I remember this morning? Where are my parents? Why is my home an abandoned-looking mess? For God's sake, what the _**hell**_ happened?" Cordelia screamed in the parking lot, which was luckily deserted apart from the two of them.

"OK, Cordy, just... just calm down," Xander said soothingly, instinctively taking her in his arms and giving her a comforting hug as tears started to splash down her cheeks. He eventually managed to get her calmed down, after listening to her babble into his shirtfront like an idiot while turning into a complete wreck. He then said, "I dunno for sure what's happened to you, Cordy, or why you don't remember anything past May of junior year. But I'll help you find out, if you let me. OK?"

"Fine," Cordelia sniffled, clinging to him like a human barnacle. "But I want _**answers**_ , damn it, so let's hear some!"

"Uh, not here," Xander decided, looking around. "Let's go somewhere a little more public, I don't want to tempt fate with any more vampire surprises tonight. Look, Cordy, if you'll give me a chance, I promise that I'll explain what happened to your parents and your house, and everything else, but – but you'll need to brace yourself, as it really has been more than four years since then, and a _**lot**_ has happened... "

{ _Just great._ } Cordelia couldn't help thinking that, somehow, the nightmare had only just begun...

* * *

 _A while later – Restfield Cemetery, Sunnydale; night:_

{ _It's_ _totally_ _dead around here tonight,_ } Buffy decided, looking around. Pun fully intentional. "Here, vampires... " she crooned softly, hoping that one of them would hear her. "Weak, helpless girl... neck all moist and delicious... "

But when none of the undead appeared, she started to look annoyed. "Oh, come on!"

It was partly her own fault, granted. Being the Slayer on the active Hellmouth for six-plus years (not counting the months she'd been dead or on sabbatical in L.A., of course) meant that just about the entire supernatural community was aware of who she was by now. Buffy had no use for the whole secret identity thing – and hey, Darwin was absolutely right about evolutionary selection pressure; by this point, apart from the newly-risen vamps who still had dirt behind their ears, and the occasional Master-level vampire or demon badass, the members of Team Evil knew enough to stay away from her if they didn't want to get killed.

Well, crap. This obviously wasn't working.

{ _Stupid vampires. Never around when you want one,_ } Buffy thought in annoyance, as she walked through Sunnydale's biggest cemetery.

"Looking for me?"

Buffy whirled around, seeing an impossible sight – Darla. Angel's sire. Number one offspring of the Master himself. "What the-?" Then she got it. { _Great. The First decided to look like_ _ **her**_ _?_ }

"No, not me. I can tell you're not in the mood for this face," the eldritch horror shrugged. It then morphed into the image of Glory, the long-deceased hellgod that had almost destroyed the world. "OK, lemme guess what you're looking for, instead of who. You want a way to be free of it all, don't you?"

Glory morphed into Warren, with an ugly sneer on his face. "You also want to be able to look at yourself in the mirror, and not be disgusted by what you see. You want... "

Warren morphed into the image of her mother, Joyce. "...mommy's forgiveness for your sins. Too bad it's never going to happen, dear."

"Stop looking like her, First-y," Buffy gritted out, trying to keep a lid on her temper. She then walked on, attempting to ignore the First desecrating her mother's memory. Unfortunately, the First Evil didn't give up that easy...

"You obviously don't get it, Buffy. It's not about what you want. Likewise, it's not about right, not about wrong... "

The First then manifested itself right in front of her as she skidded to a shocked halt, almost unable to believe how the ancient evil was now using her own face instead of her mother's. "It's about power. Remember how you gave Dawnie that speech a few months back? Power. Who's got it. Who knows how to use it. So... who do you think has the power? You or me?"

"What are you talking about?" Buffy blurted out, instantly annoyed with herself for being drawn into this thing's totally stupid conversation.

"Well, newsflash, but I _**am**_ eternal. How's that for power?"

Buffy forced herself to calm down, and calmly poked the First Evil in its non-corporeal shoulder. "I dunno. How's that?"

"Cute," the First said, before it morphed into Angel – no, not Angel, Angelus. She could tell from the cruel smirk. "You wanna know what I want?"

"No, but I get the feeling you'll tell me, anyway."

"Good guess. I want to feel, lover. I want to put my hands around an innocent's neck and feel it crack. I want to bite into a young girl's neck and feel the blood slurping its way down my throat. Whereas all _**you**_ want is to know the peace and enlightenment of Heaven once more."

Angelus/the First laughed cruelly. "That's the difference between us; I want to be somebody, but _**you**_ want to be nobody. Which is fine; I can be patient, not to mention obliging. You'll get your wish – you and all your friends."

The First then vanished in a short burst of white light, and the sound of running footsteps caused her to spin around, the stake coming up automatically as her other hand rose to block or punch. Seeing only a familiar-looking redhead running up, panting loudly, Buffy sighed and lowered both stake and hand. { _Get a grip. The First Evil is only playing mind games, same as it's done the past few months. You can get past it. You_ _ **will**_ _!_ }

"Buffy!" Willow called out, and the witch puffed to a halt after coming up from the direction of the cemetery's main gates.

"Will?" Buffy asked, feeling concerned. She decided not to mention her encounter with the First Evil just now, it looked like her best friend had more urgent news. "What's wrong?"

"I got a voice message from Anya. Well, after I realized my cell had died and I started recharging it," Willow said, shrugging in minor embarrassment. "She said Giles has been trying to get in touch with both of us. Lemme guess – you switched off your phone?"

"Yeah," Buffy said, looking somewhat embarrassed herself. "Um, y'know, during patrol these days, I kinda have to. My cell alerts the vamps whenever it goes off, even if I put it on vibrate. Plus, I might get a call from one of the parents of the kids I counsel at the school, in the middle of an ambush or whatever, and – what am I gonna say? 'Sorry, I'm currently surrounded by a horde of vampires; I'll have to call you back'?"

Willow giggled, but then she sobered up at once. "Anyway, Anya told me what Giles told her, so I came looking for you. I think you need to go back to the Magic Box and call him, pronto."

"Right. So, what's the dire, Will?" Buffy inquired, as they both started walking quickly and heading for the car.

"You remember those Slayer dreams you've been having over the past few months?"

"Sure." In Buffy's view, they were more like nightmares; horrific images of teenage girls being chased by hooded, man-like beings and eventually being stabbed and killed with evil-looking, curved blades.

"They're not just dreams, Buff. And Giles said that all the victims have exactly one thing in common."

"What?"

Willow looked her right in the eye as they arrived at the car, and stopped before getting inside the Jeep Cherokee. Buffy felt a brief chill, suspecting that she wasn't going to like what she was about to hear.

"They were all Potential Slayers."

TBC…

* * *

A/N: As always, a big thank you to everybody reading and reviewing the story! We know your reviews still aren't showing up on the Reviews page, but we _are_ getting your feedback via the site's automatic notifications - so please keep it coming. Seriously, inquiring minds want to know what you think of the story! For now, if you submit an anonymous/guest review, we'll acknowledge it here in the author notes: taran63, thanks and you're welcome, your kind words are much appreciated! Anyway, we hope you liked the chapter, and if you have any ideas you'd like to share with us regarding the upcoming plot, please feel free to do so...


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

 _Sunday, November 10, 2002 – the Bronze, Sunnydale; night:_

Xander sat in silence within one of the nightclub's booths, and he watched Cordelia carefully as she ate a muffin and drank a new cappuccino. He figured the stress must have made her both hungry and thirsty, or else she hadn't eaten anything recently. Or something.

To be honest, Xander was still trying to figure out what exactly was going on with his high school girlfriend; who, by the by, was looking just as edible as she had back in the day, if not more so. The amnesia thing didn't make much sense, if any; but oh jeez, that face and body...

A hundred visual and tactile images of his lips and hands exploring every inch of that body, those full breasts, and that mouth flashed across the little video screen in his mind's eye like a montage of porno footage. Plus, a hundred visual and tactile memories of making out with this girl in the school's janitor closet and the second and third floor maintenance closets, in her Miata, her dad's convertible, and then her BMW. The thought did occur to him that this was practically every teenager's dream – hell, any twenty-year-old's dream: a gorgeous girl who was convinced that you were her boyfriend, and who was already disposed toward making out with you and even giving you blowjobs...

He figured it wouldn't take much effort to play on that, and get her to go home with him for a little bedroom-related fun. And with all of the knowledge that he'd picked up from years with Anya about turning on a willing woman, he could easily –

{ _No. Just... no!_ } With a big effort, Xander strangled that part of his hindbrain that was screaming at him to take full advantage of the heaven-sent opportunity while it lasted. And then he drove a stake through its heart.

This was Cordelia Chase. She who was so very beautiful. And, possibly, so very damaged right now. Because the chin-length blond-dyed hair looked _**really**_ odd on her. Xander carefully hid a grin. It probably wouldn't help matters, mentioning that.

"Cordy, can I get you anything else?" he asked politely, as soon as she finished the cappuccino.

"No," Cordelia sighed happily, having calmed down a lot since that manic episode out in the parking lot. "I'm just – so glad you're here, Dweeb. I've been looking all over the place for you! I was seriously starting to worry, here! I mean, no one was at your house, and that For Sale sign? What happened to your parents? Oh my God!" Cordelia clapped a hand over her mouth, suddenly looking horrified. "A vampire didn't get them, did it?"

"Huh?" Xander blinked at her, taken aback a bit by the sudden rush of words and rapid-fire questions. Then he focused and said, "Oh, no, no. Nothing like that. Mom and Dad moved to Carpinteria over the summer... my pop got himself a new job at the desalination and water reclamation plant there. Both of them were ecstatic about getting out of Sunnydale, actually, and so they just sorta up and left."

"Well, thank God they're OK," Cordelia said, nodding. "'Cause I don't think I could take another freakish shock tonight."

Xander simply couldn't help it. He smiled, reached across the table and took hold of her hand. "It's kinda odd, ya know? I was looking through the old photo album earlier tonight, before I came here to unwind a little. Looking at pictures of, y'know, you and me. Back in high school. Definitely wasn't expecting to see you back in town, though."

Cordelia smiled at him, before quickly sobering up. Her expression clouded over, and her eyes narrowed. "The hell? Devon actually tried to kill me! How long – when did _**he**_ become a vampire? And is Oz a member of the undead club as well, nowadays?"

"Not as far as I know," Xander said, still holding her hand. "See, Oz left town after he and Will broke up during their freshman year of college. Devon... hey, it's Devon. Way I heard, he walked out of the wrong bar with the wrong hot girl he was trying to impress one night. Then he turned several of his band mates." Xander shook his head, looking irritated. "He's been on my personal must-stake and least wanted list since he tried to eat – ah... a couple of people I know."

"Freaking figures," Cordelia replied, shaking her head. "He always did do most of his thinking with his ego and his little head. Jerk."

"Not gonna argue with that," Xander nodded, still smiling at her. Huh – he couldn't seem to stop grinning. Amnesia and major weirdness otherwise, he couldn't believe how idiotically happy just having Cordelia here was making him...

"Damn it, do you have _**any**_ idea what's going on here? And why I wasn't able to get in touch with anyone on the phone? Or why there was no one present at every place I visited in that damn taxi? Not even the bottle-blond freakazoid was home!" she suddenly ranted.

"You went past Buffy's house?" Xander frowned, before Cordy nodded in reply to the question. Then he said, "Well, she's probably out patrolling tonight... but I don't know why Willow or Dawn didn't answer the phone... "

"Wait, Willow lives there too? Since when? And who's Dawn?" she demanded urgently.

"Uh, Will's been living there for over a year, off and on... and what do you mean, who's Dawn?" Xander sent her a startled look.

"Exactly what I said, lamer, who's Dawn?" Cordelia replied, eying him curiously. "Should I speak slower and use smaller words?"

"Okayyyy... " Xander said slowly, feeling rattled. "You've lost your memory, and you don't know who Dawnie is?" His eyes were now almost anime-wide.

"Yeah! I mean, no. I mean – damn it, Xander, who _**is**_ she?"

He took a deep breath and said softly, "Dawn... is Buffy's little sister."

"Her sister?! Since when?" Cordelia looked surprised at hearing that. "Did Mrs. Summers adopt or something, since our junior year of high school? No, never mind, right now – I don't _**care**_ ," she said forcefully. "Damn it, Harris – what's happened to _**me**_ _ **?**_ To my parents? To my whole freaking life?"

* * *

 _A short while later – the Bronze, Sunnydale; night:_

{ _Crap. Has the entire freaking world gone_ _ **insane**_ _ **?**_ }

Here she was, _**finally**_ sitting with the boyfriend she'd spent like half the night looking for – and yet, everything was still getting more and more turned inside out and all upside down on her. It seemed that everywhere she looked, there was yet _**another**_ bizarro event smacking her in the face.

 _ **Not**_ Dork Boy's fault. Ever since she'd effectively landed in his lap with a vampire dusting between them and started vacuuming his lips, he'd practically bent over backward doing everything he could to help her try to recover from freakishness of this hideous night and all the associated weirdness.

Cordelia figured that Xander was being a lot more patient than she'd be, if their situations were reversed. And a lot more understanding than she'd have credited him with being _**able**_ to be, from what she remembered.

And wasn't _**that**_ just the whole problem right there? _**She**_ remembered going to sleep last night with a sane life and a seventeen-year-old boyfriend. Sarcastic, humorous, not exactly bad-looking, a great kisser, and a really sweet guy in a lot of ways; but still, a typical teenage bag of walking hormones kind of guy. Whom she kinda liked. OK, maybe more than just _**kinda**_ liked; maybe had been falling in love with, kind of liked.

Not this... older, tons more solid, responsible, comforting, and reassuring _**adult**_ sitting across from her.

Someone whom, even on short acquaintance, she _**also**_ kinda liked. A _**lot**_.

But the whole, wow, Xander was almost twenty-two freaking years old and looking good thing was... unsettling. Cordelia could feel the ground shift under her feet, every time she looked across the table at him.

Xander took another deep breath and said, "I don't know where your mother is – she left town, long time ago. But best guess is your dad is still in prison. Lompoc Federal Correctional Institution."

"Tax fraud?" Cordelia asked, feeling faint.

Xander frowned. "Yeah. Uh, I thought you didn't-?"

"No, I don't, I don't... remember that. It's just the cab driver mentioned something about it, after I went home to my house – or what's left of it," she replied semi-mechanically, still feeling faint. Then Cordelia pulled herself together, and stared him right in the eyes. "Do you know anything about that?"

Xander exhaled wearily. "Yeah. Towards the end of our senior year, you told me that your dad had, uh, made a tiny mistake on his taxes. For, like, the previous twelve years. Once the IRS found out, they seized everything; apparently, even your trust fund. Your step-mom... she, uh, gave you some money to live on, and then she left town. Probably went off to Tuscany or somewhere, to live with her relatives. You basically ended up in the poorhouse, after she ditched Sunnydale – and then you did likewise, once high school was over."

He paused, looking thoughtful, but then continued, "We figured out, uh – you and me after I found out, because you didn't want any of the others knowing any of this... that your father's accountant had been misfiling things and embezzling funds, and he set your dad up to take the blame. Or so we thought. Um, not that Mr. Chase _**wasn't**_ fudging his taxes, but... "

"But it wasn't _ **just**_ him fudging his taxes," Cordelia said, nodding and looking at him curiously. After Xander nodded back she scowled ferociously, picking viciously at a napkin. "Damn it. I always knew that Daddy was big on the whole tax protest thing, but I never figured he'd be so _**stupid**_ about it! Which explains why he went to prison and lost everything, instead of being able to drag it out in court for years and years with his lawyers, the whole – "

"Embezzlement thing, yeah," Xander interrupted, nodding. "Guess the Feds figured he was a flight risk, what with all of the international travel your family did, so they arrested him and confiscated everything."

"Which makes sense, yeah," Cordelia said, her eyes distant. "Except for the whole everything else. I mean, my trust fund? My personal accounts? My car? They shouldn't have been able to touch any of that... " She refocused on her companion, and said accusingly, "And you didn't come with me, after I ditched this hellhole?"

"Ah... " Xander spread his hands, looking helpless. "No. Well, except for the whole 'driving you to Los Angeles' thing, as part of my post-graduation road trip."

{ _And you never stayed with me after we got there? No, of course you didn't. As if you'd_ _ever_ _choose_ _ **me**_ _over your precious Buffy and Willow,_ } Cordelia thought nastily, quickly figuring out probable scenarios. { _Hell, those two probably started pushing you to dump me, the moment they heard that I was planning on a new start elsewhere..._ }

"You didn't stay with me," Cordelia said, looking at him accusingly.

"Nope. Well, uh... you didn't want me to," Xander replied, shrugging and looking away. He glanced back, his gaze dark and unfathomable. "I asked you to come with me on my road trip, and you didn't want to do that, either."

"If you say so," Cordelia said, frowning. On account of _**that**_ just plain didn't make any sense to her. { _Because right after you caught me telling Fish Boy I'd buy you little bath toys and that you could see other fish, I think I would have gone anywhere with you if you'd asked me to. When you would look at me and there would be just_ _me_ _in your eyes, and nothing else... just as long as I could be sure you wanted_ _ **me**_ _and no one else, not Buffy or Willow..._ }

{ _There's something he's not telling me here,_ } Cordelia suddenly thought to herself with a frown, cocking her head slightly and examining her – former? – boyfriend.

And, well, duh. Of course there was. Like, _**tons**_ of things he hadn't told her yet. Because nearly five years of her life had vanished, like without a trace. And there was over three years of _**his**_ life that he'd lived through without her, to become this... older and harder and tireder man sitting in front of her. _**Man**_ , not a boy anymore.

Shaking her head, Cordelia brought herself back to the here and now. "So, would you happen to have any ideas on _**why**_ I can't remember anything since – well, just after you almost turned into a fish?"

"Yeah, I guess," Xander said vaguely, a lopsided smile appearing on his face at the mention of that incident; which made Cordelia's heart ache briefly. "I mean, it's almost certainly magic mojo of some kind, and we can get Will to examine you. Funny thing is, something similar happened to all of us here in Sunnydale last year; one of Willow's spells went ka-blooey one night, and for a while there, I had no idea who I was... "

"So, you think this is fixable?" Cordy said with undisguised excitement, grabbing his hand again. "I mean, if it's happened before – wait, _**Willow**_ would know how to fix this? I thought she could barely even make one of those scapula things!"

"That was a long time ago, Cor," Xander said softly, looking at their intertwined digits before making eye contact with her again. "These days, Will's packing some serious witchy heat. But, uh, it might take her a while to figure out the answer – I mean, whatever's happened to you, it's _**not**_ the same tabula rasa thing Willow did that night. That's kinda of the obvious – because you still know who you are, and I didn't have clue-one who this 'Alexander Harris' guy on my driver's license was."

He paused, and then said earnestly, "Look, Cordy, if you want – you can come over to my place and stay with me for tonight, before we find Willow tomorrow and sort this mess out. Probably best not to bother her right now; not after the way I, um, inconvenienced her yesterday. I'll have to deal with a few things first when we get there, sure, but there's plenty of room for you at the apartment – "

"Wait, you have an _**apartment**_ now?" Cordelia interrupted, gaping at him. Then she wanted to smack herself in the face. { _Well, duh. He just said earlier that his parents had moved away, and you saw the FOR SALE sign in front of his old house. What, you thought he was living in the gutter or something?_ }

"Sure do. Moved out of my parents' place over two years ago, as soon as I had enough money. Did I forget to mention that I'm an Assistant Junior Vice President at Turner and Peterson Construction, nowadays?" Xander grinned at her, obviously proud of himself as Cordy gaped at him some more. And just as obviously enjoying her reactions.

And why shouldn't he, damn it? That really _**was**_ something to be proud of. And to be impressed by.

"That multinational construction and contracting firm you always worked for, during summer break? And you're a _**business**_ _ **executive**_ now?" she blurted out, half-struggling to reconcile this older version of Harris with her high school boyfriend, and half-playing into his obvious enjoyment.

Gee, not bad for a dork whom she had so often derided as having a lucrative career in the pizza delivery business before (and sometimes, after) they had hooked up.

"Yup, sure am. Worked my way up from stock boy at the T&P Contracting Supply office here in Sunnyhell, to construction worker, to crew chief," he replied, flipping his hair back with a casual head toss. "And then I got promoted, after a vamp killed the last Assistant Junior VP. Well, I worked as an ice cream truck driver and a pizza delivery guy and a bunch of other things after high school, before I went back to T&P," he added, his eyes inviting her to laugh at himself with him.

She obliged, snickering. "I always _**knew**_ you had a promising career in fast food, weenie," Cordelia said, keeping her voice light.

"Yeah. It promised to keep me in the poor house, so I moved on," Xander replied, snickering back at her. "Sure, I like to keep my hand in on the physical side of things whenever I can; but these days I mostly have to delegate that to my number two guy, and the assistant crew chiefs," he shrugged. "Well, apart from what happened yesterday, when Tony called in sick. It's put us behind on some things, actually; betcha I'm gonna have to reorganize the employee roster temporarily, first thing tomorrow morning... "

{ _He's actually acting like a responsible adult_ _,_ } she thought approvingly, and Cordelia found that she definitely liked that – despite how confused she felt right now. Mentally, she once again made the comparison between Adult Xander and Class Clown Xander – and concluded that she definitely liked who and what she was seeing before her. Possibly more than the guy who had been, like, _**obsessed**_ with Buffy and Willow, despite being _**her**_ boyfriend!

{ _Well, duh,_ } an annoying voice at the back of her mind told her haughtily. { _Because you've always had a thing for older men, remember? Like, there was Richard Anderson, the frat boy demon worshipper. And Angel, the mopey -slash- homicidal vampire. Except for the whole 'he's dead' thing. And even..._ }

Cordy cut off that annoying inner voice by sheer force of will and said, "Xander, look – I'm exhausted, freaked out, and I'm honestly not sure just how much more I can deal with at the moment. So I'd love to spend the night at your place, if you're OK with that, and deal with everything tomorrow. _**After**_ I've had a shower and a good night's sleep, all right?"

"Yeah," Xander nodded. He then asked, "So – where's the rest of your stuff from L.A.?"

" _ **What**_ stuff from L.A.? What you see is what you get, pal," Cordelia replied with more than just mild annoyance. "Nothing but the clothes on my back type dealie, which is why you're not exactly catching me at my best right now!"

"Fine, then I'll take you to buy some essentials before we head off home," Xander shrugged.

"I... " She paused, uncertain. "I don't have any money, Xander, I can't afford – "

"Cordy. Don't worry about that sort of thing, OK? This is on me," he interrupted her at once. "Even though this isn't high school, and we're not together anymore, whatever you need for as long as you're in Sunnydale? I'm your guy. And please don't argue with me about it, OK? You've got enough problems right now, without that damn pride of yours forcing you not to accept anyone's charity! I mean, am I wrong or what?"

"No, you're not wrong," she admitted reluctantly, and trying not to wince at the confirmation that their relationship had officially ended. "And I – no, wait! At this time of night? The only place that'd still be open is Wal-Mart! And I still have some standards – I'm _**so**_ not gonna Blue Light Special it, Harris!"

Now looking exasperated, Xander replied, "Fine! I'm sure Anya musta left some stuff at my place that you can use."

"Fine! Wait – who's Anya?" Cordy wanted to know, feeling confused.

Xander sighed, his expression telling her that he _**really**_ didn't want to have to explain about that right now. "Someone who's not part of my life anymore. C'mon, let's go."

* * *

 _Later that evening – Xander's apartment building, Sunnydale; night:_

"You live _**here**_ _ **?**_ " Cordelia asked incredulously, stumbling a bit after they entered the complex. Damn it, that stupid broken heel – if it wasn't for Xander putting an arm around her waist to keep her steady, she'd have fallen over nearly half a dozen times by now!

Anyway, located near the corner of San Pedro and Montgomery Street, the building was in a very upscale area of Sunnydale. Not as good as where she used to live, before the IRS had apparently rearranged her life, but still very nice. She found it amazing that Xander had actually managed to rent an apartment in a place like this, despite their recent conversation in the Bronze.

"Yeah, I live here," Xander nodded. Looking like it took a major effort of will, he ignored the incredulity in her tone.

Seventeen or otherwise, Cordelia wasn't stupid. She understood perfectly well that the question and its implications had annoyed the guy, and she made a mental note to try to not act so surprised at how Xander had actually made something of himself nowadays. But suddenly, there was one question she _**had**_ to ask. "What happened?"

"Huh?"

"Don't play the village idiot with me, Dumbass! What happened to 'us'?" Cordy demanded. "Did you dump me? Did I dump you? Or was it a mutual decision to call it quits, just before I left for L.A.?"

"That's... not a conversation I want to have out here," Xander replied evasively, gesturing at the corridor down which they were walking towards his apartment. "I mean, I'd like for us to be sitting down when we get into that topic. And before we do that, I need to get rid of an unwelcome roommate."

"A roommate? Who?" Cordy asked, fighting off a bad feeling that it might be this 'Anya' woman her former boyfriend had briefly referred to at the Bronze.

Xander sighed, as they arrived at his place and he let go of her. He then took out his keys and unlocked the front door. "You probably wouldn't believe me, even if I told you."

"Why would you say-?" Cordelia began to ask, as she followed Xander inside – just as Spike came out of one the rooms. "AGGGGGHHHHHHH! VAMPIRE!" she screamed, naturally enough.

Oddly reminiscent of his grandsire, Spike winced at the sheer volume of noise she was outputting. "Bloody hell, woman! Could ya turn it down a bit? You sound like a bleedin' fishwife... "

"Fishwife?!" Cordelia was almost instantly more annoyed than afraid, even though she was still instinctively hiding behind her former boyfriend. Recalling how Angelus – Angel – whatever – had called her the exact same thing earlier tonight, she demanded indignantly, "How _**dare**_ you say that to me, you Billy Idol wannabe?!"

"Oi – that effin' wanker stole the look from _**me**_ , not the other way around!" Spike instantly bristled and scowled at her in annoyance.

"Relax, Cor," Xander cut in, smirking. "Spike isn't any threat to you, well – not _**now**_ , anyway. Guy got himself an anti-violence chip in his head, since the last time you saw him. Well, that and he apparently has a soul, nowadays... "

"What's all this 'apparently' guff, mate? I _**did**_ get my soul back!" Spike said belligerently.

"Well, you sure don't look or _**sound**_ any different to me," Cordelia replied snarkily. She popped out from behind Xander and asked him, "Are you sure he's not just trying to pull a fast one on you people? I mean, at least with Angel, you could tell who was Angelus and who wasn't!"

"Why the bloody hell does everyone keep comparing me to that sodding poofter?" Spike demanded, glaring at Cordelia. "I'm _**nothing**_ like him! Besides, I didn't get cursed by a bunch of gypsy gits; I went to Africa and _**won**_ my soul back!"

"You did? Why?" Cordelia honestly didn't get that.

"Not that it's any of your business, ya dumb bint, but everything I've done – I did it fer Buffy," Spike said steadfastly.

"Oh, of course. Buffy, Buffy, Buffy! Is every freaking vamp in creation obsessed with that girl? And why? Gee, let me count the ways," Cordelia ranted, finally letting go of Xander's bicep. "Buffy fixation, soul, doing things to impress the Slayer... gee, sure sounds like a cut-rate Angel Junior to me!"

Spike bristled and puffed up even more – looking a _**lot**_ like an offended cat, Cordelia noted, but Xander cut in again before either of them could say anything further.

"Yeah, sure you did, Spike. And much as I'm fascinated by this _**stimulating**_ topic of conversation – you need to get out. Right now," Xander ordered the vampire, pre-empting Spike's scathing retort. "Consider yourself officially evicted, pal. Which means take anything that's yours, and hit the road. Cordy's going to be staying here a while, and the _**last**_ thing she needs is your presence."

"'Ere now, you can't throw me out just like that!" Spike protested at once.

"Funny, I think I can. Now get out, and don't come back," Xander told him in no uncertain terms, opening the front door and gesturing impatiently.

To Cordelia's eye, Spike looked like he was both offended and unable to believe this was actually happening. The undead thing then said, "Buffy won't like this, ya know. 'Sides, where am I s'posed to go?"

"In order, if Buffy doesn't like it, that's _**her**_ problem. And for all I care, you can go straight back to that school basement where we found you. Or else go back to your crypt, camp out at Angel's old mansion, or try living in a sewer. Just leave – right now. I _**won't**_ ask again." Xander had an ice-cold expression on his face as he said that.

Spike smirked, obviously unable to help himself. "Oooh, who's playing the manly man for the former cheerleader, then? I wonder, does she know all about you and the demon bird – "

The British vampire never got the chance to finish that sentence, though, as Xander grabbed him by the collar and belt and literally shoved him out the door. Cordelia honestly couldn't believe it as Xander tossed him through the entranceway, she'd been certain that Spike would finally quit playing games and try to –

Harris then told the vampire, "And seriously, _**don't**_ come back. If you do, there's a stake waiting with your name on it!" He slammed the door shut. "Good riddance."

"No argument here," Cordelia agreed fervently.

"Oh, almost forgot... "

She watched, torn between following Xander with her gaze and eying the front door nervously as the Dork disappeared into the spare room briefly, before he came back carrying a duffel bag.

Opening the door, Xander threw the duffel bag out at the vampire, smacking him in the face with it just as Spike was smirking and opening his mouth. "There's all your crap. Bye." Slamming the door again, he folded his arms and leaned against it, facing Cordelia. "Whew. Glad that's done."

Nodding, Cordelia looked at the door. "But as long as he still has access to your apartment, he's a danger, right? So you should do that dis-invitational spell thing-y, or whatever."

Xander shrugged and said, "OK, as soon as I get you settled in to the apartment."

"Do it _**now**_ ," Cordelia insisted. "Trust me. Better safe than sorry, Dweeb!"

Shrugging again, Xander acceded to her wishes. He retrieved a hammer, a couple of nails, moss herbs and holy water from the kitchen and came back, before nailing a wooden cross to the inside of the door. Then he started burning the herbs and sprinkling the water at the threshold, before reading the Latin incantation from a piece of paper. "Hicce verbis consensus rescissus est!"

There was nothing overt to indicate the invitation barrier had been erected; no flash of light, or anything like that. But somehow, she could feel that it had worked as Xander said, "There ya go, Cor. We're all safe and snug inside the Fortress of Solitude again."

"Well, good," Cordelia replied fervently. "Now, would you mind telling me why the _**heck**_ you ever allowed him to live here with you?!"

"Wasn't my idea. Buffy asked me to do it. Well, maybe 'ask' isn't quite the right word," Xander shrugged yet again. "If we're gonna be blunt, she more or less forced him down my throat like a jagged little pill – "

"Huh?"

"Oh, sorry. Alanis Morissette was a bit after your time?" Xander smirked.

Cordelia immediately glared at him. "No, you moron! Hello, Canadian singer-songwriter? Won Grammy awards for album of the year and best rock album for 1996? I just meant, why the hell would _**Buffy**_ of all people force you to live with that vampire? What the heck makes Spike so important to her?"

Xander exhaled wearily. "She slept with him for most of last year, after the Buffster was resurrected from the dead – and we literally tore her soul out of Heaven."

Cordelia looked and felt completely thunderstruck at this news. "No way. Are you, like, _**serious**_ _ **?**_ "

"Lotta changes around here since high school, Cor," Harris shrugged. "That's just one of them."

"But that's _**insane**_ _ **!**_ I mean, didn't Buffy learn her lesson about that sort of thing with Angel?" She honestly didn't get it, as Xander led her to sit down on the couch.

"Take my advice, and don't even try to figure it out. Hell, I've given up attempting to understand her taste in guys; I mean, over the years, there's been a _**lot**_ of debris on the Buffy relationship highway," he said slowly, before Xander exhaled loudly. "And the whole 'Buffy and Spike' saga is kinda tangential as far as the current situation is concerned, Cordy. You wanted to know what happened with regard to 'us', since I almost got in touch with my inner halibut... so it's time I filled you in on all that."

Nodding, Cordelia kicked off her shoes, followed him into the kitchen and leaned against a counter, watching as he made sandwiches and coffee. A loud grumbling in her midsection made her acutely aware that she hadn't eaten nearly enough since... when? She had no idea. A cappuccino and a muffin at the Bronze obviously wasn't enough to fill the void, so it must have been a while; apart from that quickie bite at Union Station.

Just what the heck _**had**_ she been doing before waking up inside that weird-ass hotel, that she hadn't eaten recently?

After leading the way to the dining room table and settling her in with coffee, iced tea, and her sandwiches, Xander spoke for well over an hour – going over everything that had happened before and during and after their senior year of high school. Cordelia interrupted every so often with questions like:

"Angel got his soul back? After Willow did that gypsy curse on him? _**Willow?**_ "

"Buffy ran away from home for the summer?"

"What do you mean, she hid the fact that Angel came back from Hell?"

"I almost got killed during Homecoming? And I wasn't elected Homecoming Queen, either?"

"You cheated on me?"

"You cheated on me with _**Willow**_ _ **?!**_ "

"Why, for crying out loud?"

"Oz accepted her back, even though Willow's gay now?"

"Why couldn't she have figured that out _**before**_ you and her started making out behind my back?!"

"I wished _**what?**_ "

"Mayor Wilkins was a what? And he did _**what?!**_ "

"You went to the Prom with _**who**_ _ **?**_ I knew it! I _**knew**_ you took some skanky 'ho instead of me!"

"What do you mean, she wasn't a skank?!"

"She was a demon? Ex-demon – sorry. Well, gee, _**that**_ figures."

"OK, let me get this straight: you paid for my Prom dress and I went to the dance with this Weasley guy – all right, _**Wesley**_ guy – and then you and I got into an argument, before we finally slept together?"

"We did it in Giles' _**office**_ _ **?**_ And then I turned around and went home with the Weasel? Did I grow up to become a slut, or something?"

"We had sex again, just before Graduation? And _**after?**_ "

"We blew up the high school? And I don't remember it? Damn it!"

"I moved to L.A. and started working for _**Angel**_ , of all people?"

"As a _**secretary**_ _ **?!**_ "

"Well, at least it wasn't as a name-tag person."

"Oh, you're _**kidding**_ me! At April Fool's? Jeez – could I _**possibly**_ have sunk any lower? I mean, aside from dating you and everything."

"OK, so you've had Spike as a roommate before? And you stopped him from staking himself _**why**_ _,_ exactly?"

"Oh, now this time, you gotta be kidding me! The U.S. military came to town and built a cyborg demon _Terminator_ thing? _**Why**_ , for God's sake?"

"You thought Jonathan Levinson was some kinda superstar? What the hell were you smoking to believe that?!"

"Spike made you all pissed and angry towards one another? Why the hell would _**his**_ opinion on stuff even matter to you?"

"Some monks made Buffy a sister? What are you saying – that Mrs. Summers got down and dirty with a bunch of _**monks**_ _ **?**_ "

"Buffy's mom died? Crap. What _**happened**_ to her?"

"So, you got engaged to that Anya woman? No way! When you were barely twenty years old?"

"Buffy died again doing _**what?**_ "

"You didn't tell Giles about Willow's plan to resurrect her, why?"

"Wait, Willow brought Buffy back to life by puking out _**what?**_ "

"Everyone in Sunnydale started singing and dancing all the time? And I missed it? Damn it!"

"What do you mean, you were responsible for three people getting killed?!"

"You dumped your fiancée at the _**what?**_ "

"Your ex had sex with Spike as well? What _**is**_ it with women boning the vampires in this town, contagious necrophilia or something?"

"Spike tried to _**what**_ in Buffy's bathroom?!"

"You barely stopped Willow from doing _**what?!**_ "

"Buffy tried to kill that Anya girl, after she was responsible for murdering how many people?"

"You got involved in _**another**_ love spell fiasco? Oh, sorry, enchanted jacket. That makes ALL the difference!"

"And all these years, we never talked – and barely even spoke at Mrs. Summers's funeral, for crying out loud?"

"Why, for God's sake?"

"I don't know, Cordy. Even though we parted on OK terms after I bought you your dress for Senior Prom – well, we got into one of our usual fights as I was driving you to L.A., and we haven't really spoken for the past three and a half years," Xander shrugged. "Sorry, but that's the situation. I basically have no idea what's going on in your life right now."

"Oh, for... " Cordelia shook her head, trailing off. "And of course I didn't grab you by your convenient carrying handle, and drag you away to L.A. with me. Because that would have made, like, _**sense**_ , damn it. And you just _**let**_ me take off for the big city after all of that, and didn't even follow me. Well, no, of course you didn't."

Xander opened his mouth and then shut it hastily, as she glared at him.

"I mean, seriously, it's not like _**you**_ would ever do something intelligent. You know, like figure out that if a girl sleeps with you at least three times – that _**maybe**_ an argument in the car isn't automatically the end of the relationship, right? Right! But no... "

"Are you going to let me get a word in anytime soon?" Xander demanded, cutting into her tirade.

"I wasn't _**planning**_ on it, no," Cordelia said tartly, sticking her tongue out at him.

Xander shook his head, snickering. Waving her on, he leaned back with his arms folded across his chest, grinning at her. "In that case, carry on."

"Thank you, I will," she replied, briefly grinning back at him. Folding her own arms and leaning back, Cordy considered him carefully, arching an eyebrow at him. "So, aside from this demon girl you almost married, was there anyone else?"

"Huh?"

"Don't huh me, Dorkoid. After us... me, I mean. Was there anyone _**else**_ after we broke up?" Cordelia demanded to know.

Giving her that lopsided smile again, Xander picked up their cups and headed off into the kitchen for refills. "Faith," he said simply, his voice drifting back over the breakfast bar. Cordelia slid her chair back and headed into the living room. { _Might as well be comfortable for the rest of this..._ }

"I'm not sure I have any left," Cordelia called back at him. "And what's faith got to do with anything I asked you?"

"No, Faith. It's a name, her _**name**_ was Faith," Xander replied, settling a refilled mug in front of her and settling into the other corner of the couch with another mug for himself.

"Oh. OK," Cordelia said, looking surprised. "So there was a Faith. Pretty name. And you two had a thing?"

"You could call it that, or not," Xander replied, shrugging. She noticed how he had a weird expression on his face, half soft and amused, half annoyed and introspective. "It wasn't so much of a thing, really, than a 'she threw me down on her bed and had her way with me and then kicked me out in my underwear' kind of blur. And then she tried to kill me, later on."

"Tried to – " Cordelia stopped with her mug halfway to her mouth, gaping at him. She shook her head slowly, before raising it the rest of the way. After taking a sip, she exhaled and said, "Only you, Doofus. This Faith person tried to _**kill**_ you? Obviously another demon girl, right?"

"Nope. Slayer. The one Called after Kendra was killed," Xander said, sighing. "And it was seriously messed up. She accidentally killed a guy, a human being, well – mostly by accident. There was a big fight with a lot of vamps around, and Buffy thought Finch was one of the undead and threw him at her, and so Faith staked him. And there was much with the freak-age, and since we were really all screwed up at the time, none of us were really much with the whole comforteering thing, so it all went downhill fast and got worse."

"Ah. Story of our messed-up lives," Cordelia said, nodding. "I mean, with the all screwed up. So, you liked her, anyway?" she asked, softly.

"Yeah. I did, kinda," Xander replied, smiling wryly. "For all the good it did. Was scared as hell of her after that, and for her, but I still kinda had the hots for her. Real mixed emotions thing. I... "

He trailed off with an odd facial expression, and so Cordelia asked, "What?"

"Ah, kinda funny. While I was visiting her in that prison today, Faith said I should look you up and talk to you," Xander explained, and started laughing quietly. "I'm pretty sure this isn't exactly what she had in mind, though."

"Probably not," Cordelia agreed with him, nodding. Tilting her head, she then sent him a curious look. "Prison? I thought you said it was an accident? I mean, I already know you didn't turn her in for attempted Xander-cide."

Xander shrugged. "I said it all went downhill and got worse, didn't I? She killed another guy on the Mayor's orders. And then there was this huge battle with Buffy where Faith got hurt bad; she ended up in a coma, and went way over the edge after she woke up. Left town after a really messed-up body-switching thing. Eventually, though, she gave herself up to the cops in L.A. and reformed."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

They were both silent for a while, Cordelia sipping her coffee and studying him. She found herself marveling yet again at this older, more solid, and much more careworn version of the boy she'd started to fall in love with...

After a little more study, she decided yet again that she really did like this newer version, too.

"So. Anyone else?" she asked, looking at him curiously.

Xander shrugged again, smiling lopsidedly at her. "So why all the curiosity about my love life, huh?" he asked, his voice half-teasing, half-curious.

"Hey, I'm seventeen up here right now, remember?" Cordelia said, tapping herself on the temple. "I'm still the girl who, as far as _**she**_ remembers, recently confessed her undying devotion to Xander the Fish Monster. So satisfy my curiosity about all these bimbos you've been cheating on me with, bucko."

"Ah. Right. Well, they say confession is good for the soul... " Xander grinned at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Lysette Torchio."

"What? Little Miss I'm a Car Slut?" Cordelia blinked at him, her jaw dropping briefly.

"You obviously remember her well."

"You slept with Lysette Torchio? After we broke up?" Cordelia asked, still blinking.

"Well, no." Cordelia stared at him, and so he held up a hand and cut her off before she could say something sarcastic. "That was more of a 'she gave me a blowjob in the front seat of my Uncle Rory's car' deal. Not long before we ran into Jack O'Toole and his zombie buddies, actually, and she eventually ran off screaming into the night."

"Ah. Figures. Still, must have been a _**really**_ nice car," Cordelia replied, smirking.

"Like I just said, you obviously knew her well," Xander said, smirking back. "Rory's blue and white '57 Chevy convertible."

"That would do it. Wait – Jack had zombie buddies? Jack 'the Psychotic Thug' O'Toole?" Cordelia asked in disbelief.

"Ah, guess I forgot to mention it before – Jack was a zombie himself, by that point. Later that night, Oz ate him."

"Eewww. I sure hope he used Scope, afterward." Cordelia eyed Xander speculatively and smirked again. "Lysette, huh. Boy, you really do have a thing for breasts, don't you?"

"The greatest natural wonders of the world," Xander replied, still smirking at her. "Accept no substitutes."

"Pervert," Cordelia said, starting to laugh. "So. Anyone else?"

"Mary." Before she could ask, he elaborated, "The Executive Secretary at T&P's head office in L.A. After Willow almost ended the world last spring, Mary and I met at a Management and Planning Skills seminar at the company's satellite office in Phoenix, Arizona."

"There's alcohol involved here somewhere, I'm sure of it," Cordelia told him, smirking again.

"Yeah, we definitely got a bit too tipsy at that hotel bar," Xander admitted, smiling fondly at the memory. "We started discussing my screwed-up near-marriage experience and messed-up love life, and _**her**_ screwed-up love life – "

"And then you fell on each other's lips and into your bed in your hotel room," Cordelia finished for him, snickering.

"Her bed, actually, in her room," Xander said, laughing. He flipped his hair away from his eyes, adding, "And if you've seen this episode, why didn't you stop me?"

"Didn't have to see the episode, loser, it's a common enough plot," Cordelia replied, laughing back at him. "So, this Mary person," she said, curious about this girl that her boyfriend (former, damn it!) very evidently had a fond memory of. "Was she pretty?"

"She – " Xander abruptly shut himself up, a funny look coming over his face. He stared at her oddly.

"She what?" Cordelia's eyebrows arched up.

"Mary... she kinda looks like you, actually," Xander replied, his expression wondering. "Same hair, blue eyes instead of hazel, a bit bigger in the, ah... "

"Tits? Chest? Bosoms? Boobs? Hooters? Ta-tas? Fun bags?" Cordelia suggested, her eyebrows going up even farther.

Xander sent her a startled look, then glared at her – before starting to snicker helplessly. He took a deep slug of his coffee, swallowing heavily. "Yeah, those. Uh-huh."

"And her face looks a lot like mine, huh?"

"She could be your slightly older sister, Cordy," Xander said, shrugging. "And I don't know why I didn't realize that before."

"How _**much**_ slightly older, hmm?" Cordelia sipped her own coffee to hide a smile.

"Oh – two or three years, maybe? Not sure." Xander gave her a quizzical look.

"Right," Cordelia replied. They both exchanged shrugs and looked at each other, letting the silence stretch out until it went past thoughtful to uncomfortable, and then past that to unbearable.

"We ought to – " Xander began to say, the same time that Cordelia blurted out, "You really need to – "

They both broke off, exchanging wry expressions. Xander made an 'after you' gesture to her, raising his eyebrows curiously.

"You really need to get to bed so you can get up for work in the morning, don't you?" Cordelia asked, returning the gesture.

"Yeah, but I figure I'll take off early after doing what needs doing," Xander said thoughtfully. "Need to get you settled, not to mention take you shopping, so you can get something other than Anya's cast-offs to wear. I know how much you hate that sort of thing."

Cordelia was touched by the thoughtfulness. She just nodded, though, keeping it off of her facial expression. "Can you do that?" she asked, curiously. "Without losing your job, I mean."

"Hey, I put in way more than a full day on Saturday," Xander said, shrugging. "Which is usually my sleep in and loaf day. And I have a pretty good work record, few missed days and lots of sick days and vacation days piled up. I think I can get by with taking the day off after doing the roster rearranging thing I mentioned."

Cordelia nodded. "Just as long as you keep your mitts off of the executive assistant while you're there, Dummy."

Xander laughed. "Not an issue. She's in Los Angeles, remember?"

Nodding again, Cordelia frowned slightly, thinking. "And you were going to say?" she asked, curiously.

"Ah. Was going to say pretty much the same thing, that you're probably exhausted," Xander replied, smiling at her.

"Oh, boy, am I _**ever**_ ," Cordelia agreed fervently. "You wouldn't _**believe**_ the night I've had since I first came to. So, uh... "

"I'll get you something to wear so you can shower," Xander said, starting to turn around. "And there's a spare bedroom... OK, it's more of a cupboard, but still. And – oh, crap!"

"What?"

"Spike was sleeping in there. Not fit to sleep in, until I do laundry and wash the bedding and flip the mattress over and stuff," he explained. "Uh... until I burn the bedding and replace it. No one is sleeping on that stuff again."

"Eeww, no," Cordelia said, her nose wrinkling. "Seriously don't want vampire cooties."

"Vampire cooties?" Xander asked, his eyes dancing merrily at her. "What are we, six?"

Cordelia threw a couch pillow at him, bouncing it off of his face before he caught it, laughing. "You _**so**_ know what I mean. Jerk."

"You can have my bed, unless you're afraid of catching loser cooties," Xander said. "And I'll take the couch. It folds out," he added, gesturing at it.

"Oh, for... " Cordelia shook her head, scowling at him. "We'll take your bed, together. I mean, seriously? We _**have**_ slept together before, even if I don't remember that. It's not like we weren't headed towards sharing a bed after the whole Fish Boy thing, you know!"

"Cordy... " Xander said slowly, shaking his head. "Not like I'm against that, seriously, but... "

Cordelia glared at him after he trailed off, and said, "But what? You have a problem sharing a bed with me?"

"No! Jeez, you're still... freaking gorgeous, Cordy, and different circumstances, I'd take you up on that offer in a hot minute," Xander said, looking startled. "I just, well... do you really want to take something that's _**already**_ complicated, and take a chance on complicating it even more before you even remember why you stopped wanting to have sex with me?" It came out all in a rush, and he looked a bit dubious, adding, "And did anything in all of that actually make any sense?"

Cordelia started to say something, something more than a little sarcastic, and then stopped. Cocking her head slightly, she examined him slowly, taking renewed stock of this much older and more responsible Xander Harris. This more... more _**restrained**_ Xander Harris. The male teenager she remembered would have been falling all over himself, drooling at the idea of getting her into the same bed as him – and then engaging in you-know-what.

Except... maybe not.

Not like this. She remembered the Valentine's Day love spell and Xander turning down the chance to have sex with a _**very**_ willing Buffy, because she hadn't been in her right mind – and because he'd known she'd never offer him something like that if she had been. And then spending the entire day and part of the night running around Sunnydale with her and keeping her from getting killed by his stupidity, and almost getting killed himself in the process.

Instead, she opened her mouth and said: "I meant to sleep in the same bed together, Dumbass, that's all." Her voice was soft. "Not that I'd necessarily be against anything extra, you understand. Just not _**tonight**_."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh," Cordelia said, her tone not quite mocking, more amused than anything else. "And when did you go and turn into a nice guy on me, anyway? I mean, you were always a hero, but... nice?"

"Uh, hero?" Xander gave her a blank look, and a shrug. "And I'm sure Anya would give you an excellent argument on the 'nice guy' thing. Dunno. During the years you don't remember, maybe?"

He looked so absolutely clueless that she shook her head, feeling exasperated and somewhat... touched. "Oh, for... OK. You get the lumpy fold-out. I'll sleep in your bed. Alone. All by myself."

"All right... " Xander sighed and nodded. "That works, I guess." He turned and started to head off toward his room, presumably to get her something to wear and turn back the covers for her.

"Cool," Cordelia added unexpectedly. "And if you hear any loud moaning sounds coming from your bedroom in the middle of the night, just ignore them, OK?"

Xander stumbled halfway around the corner of the couch and heading to the hall, barely catching himself on the back of the wall as his balance wobbled. Cordelia sent him her best and most malicious thousand watt beauty queen smile and a snicker, when he glared back at her over his shoulder.

{ _Oh, yeah. So_ _ **totally**_ _worth it!_ }

TBC…

* * *

A/N: Does anyone know what really happened to Tony and Jessica Harris after season six? We couldn't find anything concrete, so in this AU they moved out of town. Kinda necessary for the plot, in terms of Cordelia not being able to find anyone she knew in the previous chapter. Anyway, that's the X/C reunion finally over with! Sorry we didn't focus on anyone or anything else for this part of the story, but here seemed like a good stopping point - and it was already pretty long to begin with. Don't worry, though, the other characters _will_ make an appearance next time! This is turning into quite the ensemble fic, all things considered. Oh, yeah, and the site's review system is finally working normally again, so please don't forget to type your comments into the reviewer box below. As always, thanks in advance for doing that...


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

 _A time meaningless to mortal minds – a place where nothing needs be what it seems:_

Daniel 'Oz' Osbourne frowned as he gazed at the shattered remains of his old high school. He had the feeling that something wasn't right as he said to himself, "Hrmm."

"Hello, Oz."

The werewolf turned around to see Amy Madison standing a few feet away from him. "Amy. Thought you were a rat."

"I was. I got better."

Oz actually frowned, before turning around to look at the remains of Sunnydale High. "This isn't real, is it? Not sure how I know it, but... you're not really here, are you? I'm just dreaming or something. Well, pretty sure, anyway."

"Wow. We're actually having a civilized conversation, instead of you doing that annoying, noncommittal, monosyllable act!" Amy replied rather nastily, crossing her arms. "And you're half-right; you _**are**_ dreaming, but I'm actually here. Well, more or less. My astral self is projecting itself into your dreams, that is."

"You're angry," Oz said simply, before turning back to stare at her.

"Damn right I am."

"Mind if I ask why?"

Amy glared at him. "You mean, apart from hitting rock bottom with my magic addiction after Willow _**finally**_ de-ratted me? Truth is, I have issues with just about all of the people in that so-called Scooby Gang, even the castoffs like you. Plus there's stuff happening. Stuff I'm involved with that relates to Xander and his ex-girlfriend, actually."

"Cordy? Is she all right?"

"In a manner of speaking, yeah," Amy said, shrugging. "But in another manner of speaking, no – she's not."

"Meaning that Cordelia isn't OK," Oz said meaningfully.

"True." Amy paused, looking thoughtful, and then she added, "She's getting better, I guess – but she's hardly OK in any sense of the word."

"And that means?" Oz asked.

"Something that you'll need to go back to Sunnydale to discover for yourself."

"Not planning on doing any such thing," Oz said, shrugging almost imperceptibly. "Nothing there for me anymore."

"Not even Willow?" Amy almost spat out his ex-girlfriend's name.

Oz stiffened, and his features suddenly took on a more... lupine look. "Left Willow for really good reasons," he said calmly. There was a hint of a growl to the way that it came out, though.

"Which no longer apply, at least not completely," Amy replied, briefly looking exasperated. A raised eyebrow was his only response, and so Amy added, "That Tara girl, she died last spring."

"Huh. What happened, exactly?"

Looking annoyed, Amy explained about the bullet that had ended Tara's life – before her features grew angry. OK, angrier. "So, you wanna hear the funny part? Willow lost it completely afterwards. Your sweet little ex went all black-eyed badass, and skinned a guy alive – not to mention, she almost destroyed the entire frickin' world! And yet, everyone just immediately forgave Willow for doing that? Hell, if it hadn't been for Xander pulling off a last-minute miracle, she'd have willingly murdered over six billion people – and all she got for it was a slap on the wrist? That Giles guy took her to England for the summer and pulled a Dumbledore on her, instead of binding her magic and throwing her into the deepest, darkest dungeon imaginable. What the hell was he thinking?!"

"Hrmm. That everyone deserves a second chance?"

Amy exhaled loudly, the anger visibly draining away. "Yeah, I suppose. I got _**my**_ second chance thanks to Whistler, after all. Don't like to imagine where I'd be right now, if he hadn't found me in that basement last spring."

"Whistler? I remember that name. Guy who showed up during that Acathla mess, gave Buffy some pointers on what to do?" Oz frowned.

"Yeah," Amy nodded. "He's a Messenger for the Powers That Be. Helps maintain the balance between good and evil in this dimension, apparently."

"Good for him. But question, Amy – why are you here? Seriously. Why are we having this conversation?"

"Well, according to Whistler's bosses, Willow needs a solid anchor from someone with the right connection to her," Amy shrugged. "And even though she left Boys Town a long time ago, you two still have that sort of connection."

He shrugged back. "Maybe we do, maybe we don't. Still, the Cordy issue?"

"She has her own anchor, and her own champions on their way to help," Amy replied, shrugging again. "Oh, almost forgot. Your old buddies, Devon McLeish and Jace Derrick? They're dust now, after attacking Cordelia outside the Bronze. Xander staked those two vampires in order to save her life. Lucky for Willow how she doesn't have to worry about them attacking her at any point in the future, huh? What with all the First Evil's minions wanting to do it as well... "

The universe abruptly went black, and Oz quickly woke up in his bed somewhere in Bhaktapur – feeling more than slightly freaked out.

* * *

 _Sunday, November 10, 2002 – Northern California Women's Facility, Stockton, California; night:_

Faith sat on the bunk in her cell, alone. She was deep in thought, going over all the events of the day.

First off, the visit from her former boy-toy. The heads-up on that First Evil thing, and the briefing on the whole Sunnydale situation. Then the conversation with Rhodes, as she was escorted away from the visiting area. Damn, but the stud's visit really had stirred up memories...

Then later that afternoon, in the prison yard. She'd been doing pull-ups before gazing towards the fence and main gates leading to the outside world. Despite her words to Xander earlier today, Faith hadn't been able to prevent herself from thinking how easy it would be to simply kick some ass, escape and head back to the Hellmouth – and then help put the wrong things right. Tempting, so tempting...

Then Deb had walked towards her, before reaching inside her shirt for a knife. But before the woman could get in a swing at her, she'd turned around on the bar and kicked her directly in the face, knocking the bitch down. She'd then flipped forward, dismounting from the bar and landing on her feet like a cat. The woman who'd been planning to stab her in the back had been lying on the ground, still reaching for her knife.

"OK, you got my attention. What's your beef, Deb?" she'd asked, as the other prisoner got up and came at her again. The knife had been somewhat attention-worthy; no simple prison shank, but rather a silver curved blade that must have been smuggled in recently. Otherwise, the guards tossing Deb's cell – which happened at unpredictable intervals, for all the inmates here – would have discovered it before now.

"It's nothing personal. I need the money," Deb had replied, the assassin trying to knife her in the heart.

"For what, a nose job?" she'd asked, before knocking out the killer for hire with a bell bar to the face.

Luckily, Rhodes had shown up at that point along with the other guards, telling them that Deb was the aggressor, she'd just defended herself. Good thing, too, during the following investigation...

The Warden had wanted to know what the hell was going on, and so Faith had told him the truth – or at least part of it. Deb had done it for the money, apparently someone wanted her dead – she didn't know who or why, and given all the people she'd pissed off in the past, she couldn't even make an educated guess. Annoyed, the jail boss had told her to get out of his office, and to stay out of trouble from now on. Shrugging, she'd said, "Sure thing."

Even if, deep down, Faith suspected that that was one promise she wasn't going to be able to keep...

"Hello, firecracker."

Faith's eyes went wide, and she swung her legs down and out, landing on the floor of her cell. She then saw an impossible sight – Mayor Richard Wilkins III, standing not three feet away. { _What – oh._ }

Quickly figuring out the situation, she said coldly, "Get lost."

The First Evil, in the guise of Richard Wilkins, laughed. "Well, gosh." He/it smiled before saying, "I think, you know, a 'hello' or a 'nice to see you' might be a little more appropriate. A little bit of courtesy never goes astray, Faith."

Faith shook her head. "Screw courtesy, guy. I know who you are, not to mention _**what**_ you are."

The Mayor/First nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, that you do. Young Mr. Harris, his little visit today was pretty fortunate for you, in terms of timing. That high school slacker always was something of a thorn in my side, wasn't he? I probably should have ordered you to kill him, before my Ascension... "

The First Evil looked at Faith and added, "But he didn't explain to you how this really works, did he? Of course not. How could he?" He started pacing. "You see... I am the First, as he calls it, but I'm also me. Richard Wilkins, late mayor and founder of Sunnydale. What the heck, I'll prove it to you. Ask me any question that only I would know the answer to. Something like... " He chuckled briefly, once. "Where did I hide the moon pies in my office? Or... who was my favorite character in _Little Women_? Like I told you back then, it's Meg." He laughed again, adding, "I know. I know. Most people would guess Beth, but Meg, she's such a proper young lady. Remember when Jo burned her hair?"

Faith looked into the First's false face, and said coldly, "Nice try, but you're not him; I can tell. Plus, I can guess what you're up to, and it's not going to work. Any mind games you wanna play, any more assassins you send my way, I'll deal. So why don't you stop wasting both my time and yours, and just go?" She reached forward, and poked a finger through the First's incorporeal form. "You personally can't do shit to me, dude, and we both know it."

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey. Language!" the Mayor/First scolded her, moving back. "Honestly, Faith, I thought I'd taught you better than that... "

"You gonna keep yapping away like an annoying dog, or was there actually a point to this little visit?" Faith asked, visibly shifting gears.

"Oh, come on. You may as well ask, what's the point of anything? And I have to say, I'm surprised by some of the choices you've made since Buffy and her friends killed me. I've come to suspect that deep down, you always wanted Buffy to accept you, to love you even. Why do you think that is?" the Mayor/First asked.

Faith sounded flippant as she replied, "Seriously? You plannin' to get me to off myself, by playing head shrinker?"

The Mayor/First continued pacing, not answering the question. "You were looking for love and acceptance from her, from all those so-called friends of yours, right from the start – but you never got it. And even if you decide to play your own role in a prison movie and go back to the Hellmouth, you're never going to get it. Not even from your... boy-toy, I believe you referred to him as? The truth is, nobody will ever love you. Not the way I love you."

The Slayer instantly said, "Get the fuck outta here."

"Like I said before, language!" The Mayor/First then added, "They'll forever see you as a killer, you know that. Even him. Mr. Harris does tend to have quite the black and white viewpoint on such things."

The Chosen One simply replied, "I told you to get the fuck out. We're done here." She stuck her fingers in her ears, to emphasize the point. "La la la... "

And just before it disappeared in a flash of light, the Mayor/First said lovingly, "I'll always be with you, firecracker, in everything you do."

* * *

 _A while later – Xander's apartment building, Sunnydale; night:_

Buffy was very annoyed.

Well, it wasn't like she didn't have good reason to be! After Willow had found her at that cemetery, she and her best friend had arrived at the Magic Box; only for Anya to act like a complete butt-pain upon their arrival, and do everything she could to be contrary and unhelpful. The international phone call with Giles hadn't helped matters, either; not after learning that he would eventually be arriving back in Sunnydale with whatever Potential Slayers he could find, depending on how quickly the Council got its ass in gear, and that she should start preparing for them to show up in town soon.

But the real kicker was learning what had happened with Spike, after he'd showed up at the Magic Box and told her that Xander had just thrown him out of the apartment!

"XANDER! YOU OPEN THIS DOOR, RIGHT NOW!" she shouted, banging loudly. Not as hard as she could – even as annoyed as she was, Buffy knew not to use full Slayer strength because otherwise, the apartment door would go flying off its hinges – but she knocked hard enough to make sure the summons would not be ignored by he who dwelled within the domicile.

"C'mon, luv – you're making one helluva racket," Spike told her as calmingly as he could, looking around the corridor. It looked like her former lover was definitely regretting coming here as he said to her, "Don't want the neighbors callin' the bloody landlord, do you? I mean, that's just askin' fer trouble... "

Buffy stared at him in confusion. "Since when did you start caring about Xander getting in trouble with his landlord?"

William the Bloody shrugged. "I dunno, pet. Maybe it's the soul, or maybe it's just temporary insanity... "

Buffy opened her mouth to reply, before a scowling Xander opened the door and she immediately focused her attention back on him. He was dressed for bed, it looked like...

"Buffy? What the _**hell**_ do you think you're doing, banging and yelling like that? It's almost midnight – the neighbors are gonna complain to the landlord!" Xander growled at her.

"Oh my God, but is that all guys can think about?" Buffy rolled her eyes, before staring back at him angrily. "And I'll tell you what I'm upset about – you actually kicked Spike out of the apartment? Even though I _**told**_ you I needed you to keep an eye on him!"

"Oh, now I get it! This couldn't be about something important – like the First Evil being back, or a new master vampire setting up shop, or even Dawn getting kidnapped again. You're upset because this undead waste of space is currently homeless. Good to see you've got your priorities straight, Buff," Xander nodded sarcastically. "Really is."

The prickly, antsy feeling from earlier tonight suddenly returned full force. "I thought we agreed that you'd let Spike stay here, so that he wouldn't have to live in the high school basement! That place was driving him completely crazy – "

"Newsflash, but I only agreed to that because you practically twisted my arm about it, and I never promised you that Spike could stay here forever! And hey, in case you haven't bothered looking lately – is the walking corpse here acting crazy any longer?" Xander demanded, causing Buffy to stare at him in shocked dismay. "Bottom line, my apartment _**isn't**_ a free ride for Willy Wannabite to mooch off for as long as he can. Been there, done that, and twice is _**more**_ than enough! And besides, I've got someone else staying with me right now. I don't have any room for Spike to live here anymore, even if I wanted him to – which I _**don't**_."

"Someone else is staying here?" Buffy looked around at Spike in surprise. "You never mentioned that to me!"

"Never gave me a chance to, luv," Spike shrugged, before scowling in Xander's direction. "And bloody typical, if you ask me – it's all over with Anya, so you go running after the one that got away... "

"Huh?" Buffy asked, looking confused.

"You didn't tell her?" Xander asked Spike, looking surprised.

"Tell me what?" the Slayer demanded.

"Like I said, never got the chance. 'Sides, why would I wanna describe what happened with that fishwife screamin' almost directly in my face?" Spike replied to Xander.

"Fishwife? Huh? What?" Buffy demanded again, looking annoyed as the two males continued to pay no attention to her.

"Don't call her that, Billy boy. Or else we might just pick up where we left off outside the Magic Box – that night when you did the nasty with Ahn," Xander glared at Spike.

"Wait, this has something to do with Anya?" Buffy now looked hopelessly lost.

"Still pissed off 'bout that, are you?" Spike asked, his lips curling slightly. "Bloody hell, mate, the woman said it herself... that was just drunken solace, not – "

"Can we please change the subject?" Buffy asked, cutting him off. She did _**not**_ enjoy recalling what had happened that evening, and what had been revealed at the worst possible time.

"I don't care," Xander said icily to Spike, continuing to ignore her. "Drunk or not, comfort sex or not – what you did back then crossed a line, Spike, hell... it was so far past the line it ended up in another freakin' state! Sure, I had no say in what Ahn did anymore by that point, 'cause broken up is broken up and I abandoned her at the worst possible moment – but after everything you and I went through together, that summer Buffy was dead? And even before that, with Glory and that demon asshole named Doc? In my book, you _**pissed**_ all over the good you did back then. And before you mention the soul thing – I don't see you looking all that sorry about that night nowadays, either!"

"What – am I talking to myself, here?" Buffy felt tempted to jump up and down and start waving her hands in order to get the two most exasperating men in her life to pay attention to her. "Helloooo? This is Buffy Summers calling! Will someone pick up, already?"

"What's all the racket out here? Oh, God – if you two are gonna argue like this, will you at least not do it in public?" a somewhat familiar and exasperated-sounding female voice said from within the apartment. "Buffy, come inside, already!"

Buffy frowned, confused by who that voice belonged to. { _Damn it, I know it, I_ _ **know**_ _that I know it; I just don't know who it is!_ } she thought to herself. But then she grabbed Spike by the wrist, and proceeded to drag him forward.

 _ **Boing!**_

Spike bounced off the invisible invitation barrier so hard he went stumbling backwards, and with her hand still clamped around his wrist, Buffy was yanked back along with him – and after losing their balance completely, both of them fell into a tangled heap on the floor.

"Seriously, Buffy? I mean, Xander told me all about you and Spike – but do you think _**this**_ is the most appropriate time and place for that sort of thing?" the familiar-sounding female voice asked – as Buffy looked up to see an older version of Cordelia Chase standing alongside Xander, with both eyebrows raised and unfashionably short _**blond**_ hair.

Buffy suddenly had the horrible, sinking feeling that her night was going to get a whole lot _**worse**_...

TBC…

* * *

A/N: Sorry how this part of the fic was a bit short, and that we didn't manage to get on to the Angel show characters as promised, but - well, circumstances, and let's leave it at that. Anyway, muchísimas gracias to all of you still reading and reviewing the story - FE, thank you for your guest review, and for the record... we honestly didn't know that San Pedro & Montgomery was a corner in Albuquerque, New Mexico! If anyone has a list of legitimate Sunnydale street names, we'd love to receive it. Anyway, as always, please leave a review and tell us what you think!


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

 _Sunday, November 10, 2002 – the main lobby of the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; evening:_

Fred came in through the front doors of the hotel. Not entirely sure what to do, she wandered around the lobby, looking for something – even if she didn't know what. She figured she'd know it once she found it; it had been that kind of night so far, after all.

{ _Wonder how I ended up in L.A., all the way from San Antonio?_ } she asked herself, strolling around the lobby. { _Couldn'ta been just for the chance to score some free weed. I – ooh, what's that?_ }

She saw a shoe and hints of trouser sticking out from behind the counter, and set out to investigate. { _Curiosity, thy name be Winifred Burkle._ } Fred knew it may have killed the cat, but she was no feline, and so she went to check it out.

Instantly, Fred was confused. She simply had no idea what this green... thing was, or what to make of it. Him. Whatever.

{ _Maybe he's part of some kind of secret government experiment? Levon's always saying how the government is taking homeless kids and experimenting on them, with their weird drugs and what-not. Oooh, wait, no – I bet this guy's an alien! I wonder if he knows anything about Area 51, and the Roswell UFO crash back in 1947?_ }

"Oh, my aching head. What in the name of Tarkna happened to me?" the alien complained, slowly rising to his feet. Then he blinked rapidly. "What... "

"I, uh, Klaatu barada nikto?" Fred said the first thing that popped into her head. "Oh, wait! You're not planning on doing anal probes on me or anything, are you?"

"Are you talking to me, cow?" the alien asked, looking confused.

"HEY! Not a cow here, mister!" Fred snapped, taking the perceived insult badly.

"Okayyyy... " the alien withdrew slightly, while surreptitiously checking out his surroundings. It was fairly obvious he could recognize nothing, and so decided to tread cautiously. "Where am I? And why am I speaking in the language of the slaves?"

"Slaves!?" Fred was instantly enraged. Alien or not, this... creature had definitely pissed her off!

The green thing obviously wasn't completely dumb; from the look on its face, it knew it had screwed up somehow, and it started backing away from her. "Who are you? And where am I?"

"You're on planet Earth, E.T.," Fred replied, scowling. "Where did you _**think**_ you were?"

"Pylea."

"Never heard of that world, even though I guess that's not actually surprising," Fred shrugged, calming down as the alien's eyes went wide. "I'm Fred. What's your name?"

"Krevlorneswath of the Deathwok clan," her companion replied. Then it – he – looked around and asked, "What is this place? The main palace of the kingdom?"

"Pffft! This is a hotel, Dummy!" Fred said scornfully. "Boy, if you're the advance scout of an alien invasion or whatever? I know a lot of conspiracy theorists who are gonna be _**very**_ disappointed!"

Krevlorneswath blinked again, looking unsure on what to say. Eventually he settled on, "What's a, a... hotel?"

"Are you serious? It's a – well, basically, it's a house providing lodging and food and stuff, in return for payment! You've never heard of a hotel before?" Fred demanded incredulously.

"Oh! You mean, this is an inn of some kind," Krevlorneswath replied, looking relieved as comprehension finally washed over him.

"Well, yeah, I guess you could call it that," Fred looked at him weirdly. "So, you know what an inn is, but not a hotel? Huh."

"Well, this place certainly doesn't look like any inn I've ever seen before, anywhere, in my entire life," Krevlorneswath confessed. "To whom does it belong?"

"My father."

Both she and Krevlorneswath turned around to see a male teen scowling at them, from just inside the main doors.

"I thought you knew that, you filthy demon?"

{ _Demon?_ } Fred was very confused, and after she learned who the new arrival was – huh, Connor, one of her grand-uncles was named that – she started asking questions. Lots of questions.

Unfortunately, the answers from Connor were something that neither she nor Krevlorneswath could possibly believe, at least not at first...

* * *

 _Monday, November 11, 2002 – the apartment building of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Los Angeles; not long after midnight:_

As he made his way up the stairs, Wesley came to the conclusion that something was really wrong. Maybe with himself, or with the world around him; but either way, he was at something of a loss on what to do about it.

The hunt for Angelus hadn't lasted all that long, the damned creature had gotten too much of a head start back at the hotel; and once it was apparent they were wasting their time trying to find the leech, he had parted company with that amateur vampire hunter – Gun, or whatever name he'd had. And it was roughly at that point that he had realized it was no longer 1988...

Unable to comprehend how he had ended up in the colonies nearly fifteen years into the future, Wesley had quickly found a mirror and determined that he was indeed no longer a teenager. And given how one of the first lessons drilled into him at the Academy was to learn how to separate truth from illusion, he had refused to enter into any form of denial; he had simply started searching his pockets, and quickly found the wallet with his current address in it. Thus, Wesley had come here looking for answers; and now, he carefully made his way towards Apartment B.

{ _Hard to believe these are actually my lodgings, nowadays,_ } he thought to himself in distaste, looking around the corridor of the apartment building. { _Perhaps I'm on some sort of undercover mission for the Council? It would definitely explain why a Wyndam-Pryce is living in a hovel like this, if nothing else. Then again, if that's the case – what on earth was I doing at that hotel... with a couple of ignorant women, that rank, arrogant amateur, and Angelus of all creatures? No, something isn't right here. I'll have to contact Father, and perhaps the Academy as well... assuming there's anyone left who actually remembers me, given it's been over a decade since I was Head Boy there!_ }

Wesley frowned, looking for the correct key to open the front door. When he finally opened up the front door, he walked in – and stopped dead at the sight of a beautiful brunette wearing nothing but a silk robe, a sheer teddy, a pair of stockings, and a smile...

"What kept you, lover?" she purred throatily, instantly making Wes wonder if _**this**_ was the reason why he was living in this particular building nowadays.

In between trying to staunch the flow of drool that was threatening to start dripping down his chin, anyway.

* * *

 _Many hours later – Xander's apartment, Sunnydale; very early morning:_

It was still dark outside of the bedroom window when Cordelia's eyes popped open. Yawning, she stretched, arching her back comfortably in the California King bed, before freezing in sudden alarm. { _Whoa! Wait, this isn't my bed, where the hell –_ }

The memories quickly flooded back into her mind, fortunately. She remembered that she was in Xander's bed, in Xander's bedroom. In Sunnydale, thank God – not that weirdo freaky hotel she'd come to in last night.

OK, so not _**her**_ bed, but that was all right. Well, kind of. Except for the whole 'lost my house and my parents and a big chunk of my life' thing, which wasn't all right, it was – it was way the hell to the far left of all right, not to mention –

Stifling the incipient emotional anxiety, Cordelia shoved it way back down inside and locked the mental cabinet doors on it. Because she was Cordelia Chase, damn it, and she didn't _**do**_ panic attacks. Panic, maybe, when there was something real to panic about; but not the whole lamer emotional breakdown thing. No way.

That settled, she sat up, yawning again, and brushed her – too freakin' short, damn it – hair back from her eyes with her hands, before glancing at the bedside clock. Jeez. 5:57 am, for crying out loud. What the hell had woken her up at this hour, anyway?

Rummaging and clattering sounds came from outside the bedroom, and at the other end of the apartment. She could see a faint glow of light along the crack at the bottom of the door. And the smell of coffee... huh. { _The Dorkhead is up? Already? Oh! That's right: last night, he said something about needing to go into work for a little while in the morning. Not long before Buffy started banging on the front door. Makes me wonder if –_ }

No. The less she thought about what had happened after the Self-Righteous One had showed up with her pet vampire in tow, the better.

Darn, she really had to pee. Might as well get up, at least for a little bit, and see what her Doofus was up to. And hrmm... she sniffed deeply. Definitely coffee, yup. Yum.

{ _Oh-kay!_ }

Cordelia clapped her hands together briskly, and then blinked rather stupidly as the room lights came on, dazzling her eyes. Great. It _**so**_ figured that the Lame Brain would have a freaking Clapper installed. He probably thought it was cool or something.

Grumbling under her breath, Cordelia threw the covers back and slid off the edge and out of the bed, stretching again before padding over and into the master bathroom. Several minutes later, relieved and somewhat refreshed with her face washed and hair brushed out, she came padding back, still barefoot, and headed out of the bedroom.

Xander was puttering around the kitchen, already showered and fully dressed – and in a suit, oh my God and hot damn, he looked absolutely _**yummy**_ dressed like that – rummaging through a cupboard when she came up and plopped onto a stool at the breakfast bar.

"Hey! Morning, Cordy," he said, smiling at her before bending over to open another cabinet. "Aha!"

"Don't 'morning' me, Dork," Cordelia replied, trying to look cross with him. "It's still _**dark**_ out, for Chrissakes. What're you doing up? This early, I mean?"

"Life in the construction biz, actually," Xander said, straightening up with a flat cast-iron griddle in one hand. "My day usually begins at eight – which beats the heck outta five AM, lemme tell ya. But like I said last night, I figure if I'm going to take off at noon today, I'd better get an early head start so no one can bitch."

"Makes sense," Cordelia replied, nodding.

"Coffee?"

"Oh, God yes... "

Snickering, Xander set the griddle down on top of a burner and stepped over to the – whoa, a Braun, how had she failed to notice it last night? – coffee maker and busied himself for a couple of minutes, with mugs and stuff. After a while, he turned and set one of them down on the counter in front of her, leaning against the counter with one of his own.

She took a sip, blinked, took a long sniff and a deeper sip, and looked up at him with a surprised expression. "Wow... "

"Did I get it right?" Xander asked, looking worried for a moment.

"Perfect!" Cordelia stared at him, nodding. "How did you-?"

"Uh... Espresso roast, heavy cream, two teaspoons of sugar and a dash of honey if it's not one of the expensive blends your parents used to buy, black if it is?" Xander said, shrugging. "Hey, I remembered. Doesn't seem like it was all that long ago, actually."

"Cool," she nodded happily, smiling broadly at him.

"Some breakfast, as long as you're up?"

"You can _**cook?**_ " Cordelia blurted out, and then immediately went red in embarrassment at the incredulous tone in her voice.

To her surprise, Xander didn't take offense; he just rolled his eyes and chuckled, shrugging a bit. "Yeah. Bachelor, or at least semi-bachelor, self-defense thing. OK, well, cooking might be stretching it a bit; but I can make scrambled eggs with cheese and pan-fried toast."

"Wow. Cool," she said again, nodding. "Sounds great." Giving him a curious look, Cordelia arched her eyebrows in inquiry.

"Hey, growing up in my house?" Xander said, turning back to the stove. "I always had to fix my own meals, half the time. Remember my mom? Jessica 'ordering take-out is your best strategy' Harris?"

Laughing, Cordelia nodded emphatically. "Yeah, I remember. Your house was the only one that got frequent customer discounts from every take-out restaurant in town."

"Yup." Throwing a grin back over his shoulder at her, Xander began whipping some eggs together in a mixing bowl after throwing some buttered bread on the griddle. Shortly, the smell of crisping bread started to fill the kitchen area, and he reached out deftly to flip them over. "Anyway, I can read a cookbook, and I can grill stuff."

"Oh please. Every male in the world can grill stuff. It's like, built into your chromosomes or something," Cordelia said, snickering. "Your, uh... that Enya girl didn't cook?"

Xander used a spatula to remove the toast from the griddle, stacking the slices on two plates before starting to chop something at the cutting board. "Anya. And, well, yeah. She did. But... working couple. We always split stuff like that."

"Ah. Makes sense," she said, nodding again. "So, you're outta here soon?"

"Yep. By the way, Will's meeting up with us at one – "

"You _**talked**_ to her? Already?" Again, Cordelia couldn't help the surprise in her voice.

"Nope, not personally. Buffy did, I found a text on my cell after I got up," Xander shrugged. "Willow said to say she's looking forward to seeing you again."

"Gee, I'm not," Cordy said snarkily, before waving off the half-formed protest. "Yeah, yeah. Been over three years, and I've stayed in contact with _**her**_ better than I have with you. Doesn't change how I feel about her making a play for my guy, though. Not after you told me what happened between you two last night, anyway. Don't worry, I'll play nice – but I won't pretend to be all with the happy where she's concerned, either."

Xander simply nodded. "I had a look at your shoes earlier, by the way. Sorry, but that broken heel's a lost cause."

"Yeah, I kinda figured," she sighed. "Don't suppose you've got a spare set of footwear around here I can use, until I can replace them?"

"As a matter of fact... " Xander went to a nearby closet and pulled out a shoebox from one of the shelves. "Will these do?"

Cordelia squealed in delight. { _Genuine Salvatore Ferragamo platform pumps! OK, the toes look a tiny bit wider than I'd prefer – but right now, who cares about that?_ } She tried them on and squealed happily again. "They're _**perfect!**_ But how-?"

"Did I happen to have a pair exactly your size?" Xander shrugged. "Weirdest thing, actually. I was in Stockton yesterday, doin' a bit of shopping – when I saw these in one of the shoe stores at the Sherwood Mall. Still don't know what the heck came over me, but I went in and bought 'em; had the oddest feeling that I'd need them at some point. Which, hey, I guess I did."

Cordelia grabbed hold of her boyfriend (former, damn it!) and hugged him tight. "Thank you for letting me borrow them, Dorkhead – "

"Cordy, they're yours for as long as you want them," he offered generously, which made her hug him harder. Eventually, Xander disengaged and said, "You want me to take you shopping at the Sunnydale Mall to get you everything else you need, before we get down to business with regards to the amnesia thing?"

"Is the Pope Catholic?" Cordelia replied, giving her ex-boyfriend her best 'are you kidding me?' look.

* * *

 _A few hours later – the same place; morning:_

Cordelia stared around at the empty apartment, completely bored. After Xander had left, leaving her his credit card in case of emergency (even though the grown-up version of the Dork hadn't specified what _**exactly**_ constituted an emergency, these days), she'd quickly realized that there wasn't much for her to do except wait until he returned home at lunchtime.

There was almost literally nothing for her to do, damn it. Breakfast was already a fading memory, and all the reading material Xander had around here was of utterly no interest to her – sure, he was a guy and so the Doofus might care about the contents of _Maxim_ and _Playboy_ magazine, but she didn't – and turning on the idiot box at nearly nine o'clock in the morning? Ugh! Kiddie crap and breakfast shows, talking about stuff that was practically meaningless to her!

Like, what the hell was 9/11 and the Patriot Act even supposed to mean, anyway?

{ _Grrf. I have_ _ **so**_ _gotta do something,_ } Cordelia finally thought to herself in annoyance, looking out the window into the bright, cheerful-looking morning. { _I can't just sit around here for the next three hours, just staring at four walls or whatever! Lemme see..._ }

She started exploring the apartment in detail, grinning every so often whenever she saw a trace of the seventeen-year-old boy she'd started falling in love with – his Tweety wristwatch, for example, his Babylon 5 plates and even the skateboard he had used during sophomore year. Before Buffy Summers had come to town, 'natch. Cordelia hesitated before entering the bedroom again, but then she figured, to hell with it – he had let her sleep in there last night, it wasn't forbidden territory or whatever.

She eventually found the shoebox in the closet, full of odds and ends – but one thing in particular caught her eye. The picture. The two of them were sitting together on that couch with Xander leaned back into the near corner, sprawled slightly with her lying against him. She smiled at seeing herself wearing that dark red spaghetti strap blouse that had driven her boyfriend wild when she'd modeled it for him, roughly a month ago –

{ _No. No, damn it. Not a month ago! Nearly five goddamn_ _ **years**_ _ago!_ }

Cordelia couldn't help thinking that all this was _**so**_ unfair; it was like her life had been neatly cut apart and then stapled back together, missing way too much of the original material. Even with Xander's explanations last night, there was still so much she didn't know! She felt like a stranger in a strange land, to quote from that Heinlein novel they'd had to do an assignment on for English lit class. A stranger who was a craggy-looking twenty-two year old (or close enough for rock 'n roll), a stranger who lived in L.A. without becoming a movie star, a stranger who worked for Angel of all people – as a _**seer**_ of some kind...

Worse yet, a stranger with crappily-dyed blond hair – who looked almost nothing like the girl in the photo on Xander's bed!

Well, at least she could do something about the last part while waiting for the Dorkface to come home. Cordelia carefully repacked the shoe box and put it back in Xander's closet, before hunting for the spare key to the apartment. She found it in the kitchen and, leaving a note on the counter just in case, she carefully locked the front door behind her before venturing out onto the streets of Sunnydale.

{ _I can do this,_ } Cordelia told herself firmly, as she headed for Wilkins Boulevard by way of Montgomery Street – on foot, but armed with a cross in one pocket and a stake stuck in down the back of her pants, courtesy of her ex-boyfriend's weapons stash. Hopefully soon-to-be regained boyfriend. Whatever. { _I am not some helpless damsel in distress, damn it! Sure, there's a big chunk of my memory missing – but I still remember what Sunnydale's like, at least enough to walk the daytime streets without some kind of seeing-eye dog. Now, let me see..._ }

Cordelia frowned, as she finally arrived in the town's central business district and tried to acquaint herself with all the changes over the past four or five years. Nodding, she headed east; but when she arrived at her destination, the disappointment hit her almost like a freight train.

{ _God damn it, Antonio's has gone out of business? Oh, of_ _ **course**_ _it has! The one decent hairdresser to be found in Sunnydale, I shoulda known he wouldn't last! I betcha some undead asshole turned him ages ago, in order for him to be available on demand for, like, the rest of eternity. Which majorly sucks for me – oh,_ _ **now**_ _where do I go? Ye gods, don't tell me I have to go to somewhere like Supercuts to take care of the mess that's my hair?_ }

She walked away, miserable. Eventually, as she was passing the Sunnydale Securities Bank, she heard someone call her name.

"Cordelia?" The surprised exclamation came from a short distance away, up the street.

She turned toward the familiar-sounding voice, her eyebrows lifting. Older, yes, but still recognizable – and more importantly, standing in direct sunlight, which means not a vamp. The freaking undead version of Devon had been one mistake too many, in that regard. "Hey! Aura?"

"Oh, wow, it really _**is**_ you!" Her oldest Cordette friend came up and grabbed her by the shoulders, air-kissing her to each side with enthusiasm. "Oh my God! What a surprise... "

Aura was wearing a long, flaring black skirt, and a sheer white blouse over a black lacy bra. In Cordy's view, she looked like a million bucks, even with the extra years' worth of age showing on the girl's face. The hair, the skin tone, the clothes – all faultless.

{ _Lucky bitch obviously hasn't had her life turned upside down by an idiot dad, and the IRS!_ } "Surprise, yeah. It's, uh, been a while, hasn't it?" Cordy ad-libbed as best she could under the circumstances.

"Been around six months since we last spoke on the phone, yup," Aura nodded. "OK, so what brings you back to this little slice of hell?" she then asked. "Spill, girl friend. I mean, you swore to me that you were never coming back here again, like _**ever**_ – and yet, here you are. There's gotta be a story behind this, and I wanna hear it!"

Again, Cordelia hesitated. From the way Aura was acting, it was pretty obvious that their friendship had more or less withstood the test of time – but was it a good idea to confide in her about something like _**this?**_ To tell Aura that she couldn't remember a damn thing of what had transpired between them, since the early May of 1998?

{ _Screw it,_ } Cordelia silent swore. { _It's my life, and I can make my own choices about who to tell what concerning it!_ } She then said, "You wanna know the truth? Fine – I have some sort of weird amnesia. I came back here from L.A. last night, because I thought I still lived here. Aura, believe it or not, I can't remember _**anything**_ past May '98, just before the end of junior year!"

Her friend blinked. A lot. "You're shitting me," Aura said slowly, staring at her in surprise.

"Nope." Cordelia threw her hands up in the air. "No shit. Come on, Aura, _**look**_ at me! These clothes? This hair? Is any of it even remotely me? I mean, I talked to Xander about everything last night – "

"Xander? Xander _**Harris?**_ Your cheater ex?" Aura interrupted, her eyes wide. "Holy crap, you really aren't kidding! I thought you were _**never**_ going to speak to him again, for as long as you lived!"

She sighed. "Yeah, kinda figured it out for myself that we weren't together anymore, even before he 'fessed up about it," Cordy nodded. "And just between us? I shoulda seen that 'fluke' with Willow coming a mile away! Deep down, she's never really forgiven me for that thing with her Barbie doll... "

"Oh, yeah, I'd almost forgotten about that!" Aura suddenly burst out into good-natured laughter. "That was kinda funny, I remember now – that big lamer Jesse helped your ex-boyfriend steal it, back when we were five. And as I recall, your mom got so pissed about it for some reason – "

"She was my mother, not my 'mom.' Step-mother, technically," Cordelia pointed out, as Aura's eyes went wide. "Daddy's second wife."

"OK, that's it. We need to sit down somewhere, get majorly caffeinated and seriously talk, girl," Aura said, before she grabbed Cordelia by the wrist and headed for the nearby Espresso Pump. "C'mon!"

Over the next few minutes, they talked over coffee and a couple of muffins. Cordelia confessed more or less everything to her high school friend, including the fact that she was currently staying with Xander in his apartment. Something which again made the other woman's eyes go wide with disbelief.

"Seriously?" Aura asked, gaping at her. "But I thought he was engaged to that Anya girl? The one who runs that magic shop located on Maple Court?"

"That fell through last year, or so he told me last night," Cordelia shrugged. "Left her at the altar kind of dealie."

"Wow," Aura said dubiously. "I mean, I've known for years that he's a cheater, but I never thought Xander was that kind of flight risk!"

"Uh, apparently there were some... extenuating circumstances, or at least there were in _**his**_ version of events," Cordelia shrugged again. "Combination of a major case of cold feet, some very upsetting news, some guy from the bride's past showing up to kill her on the big day – I dunno, it all sounded real messy to me, and the Goof didn't go into details last night. Too much else for me to catch up on."

"I'll bet." Aura looked thoughtful. "So, the amnesia thing? If you want, I can recommend a very good doctor – "

Cordy opened her mouth to say thanks but no thanks, not wanting to explain how this mess was almost certainly magical in nature, before Aura continued on, "And if that doesn't work, I also know a guy who knows how to do magic. The real stuff, not what you see in the movies and TV."

"Magic?!" Cordelia yelped.

"Well, sure. I mean, after my eyes were opened to everything during Graduation, I found it impossible to live in denial anymore. Besides, you and I talked a lot on the phone over the years, girl friend. And after you let some interesting facts slip, I did some checking into this Angel guy you work for. Mm-mm, with that face and body, it's a crying shame how he's a vampire... "

"Oh, God – you know _**everything**_ nowadays, don't you? And here I was thinking I'd have to lie to you like I do – did – with all my friends, so you wouldn't think I was crazy or something!" Cordelia huffed, gently slapping her friend on the arm. "Jerkette!"

"Oh, puh-lease. I'm the one who should be saying that to you!" Aura said, trying and failing to maintain a straight face. "After all, we were _**supposed**_ to be friends since we were six! And yet you didn't say anything back then, about what it really meant to live in Sunnydale? How we're walking Happy Meals to all the monsters in this town?"

Cordelia shrugged. "Sorry. Seriously," she said, before rolling her eyes. "But it's – no, it _**was**_ some huge secret thing with Buffy and her little gang of social rejects. No telling anyone, yadda yadda yadda. And hey – I can remember like it was only yesterday how you and the rest of my girls constantly stuck your heads in the sand and rationalized whatever you could, and forgot everything else that you couldn't. Because for me, it _**was**_ only yesterday!"

Aura shrugged, deciding to give her that one. "So, you done with that cappuccino? Because far as I'm concerned, it's definitely time for us to hit the hair and beauty salon. Antonio is so gonna _**freak**_ when he sees you again, swear to God... "

"Get out! He's still alive?!" Cordelia gasped in astonished joy. "I thought for sure that that guy had ended up the victim of a so-called PCP gang attack, or he'd been mauled to death by some demon, or whatever!"

"Nope, no way," Aura grinned. "And FYI, I think it was losing his favorite customer that made him sell out and go corporate. C'mon!"

They quickly made their way to the _Beautiful You Beauty and Hair Salon_ , not far away on South McElhaney Avenue. Antonio actually wept when Cordelia entered the establishment, much to Aura's amusement, as the hair stylist immediately abandoned his current customer – who squawked, but not too much, as one of Antonio's assistants took over the master's prior operation at once. Scolding her almost the entire time, the Italian then directed Cordelia to sit down, lie back and let him get to work.

Oh, and if she _**ever**_ came in here looking like this again, he was going to feed her to a school of piranhas...

Roughly two hours later, both of them exited the salon, feeling much better – despite the beating which the credit cards belonging to Aura and Xander had suffered. Cordelia in particular was ecstatic that the blond look was history, and that she was now back to her native chestnut-brown 'do. Her hair was still too damn short, even with the extensions Antonio had provided – but Xander's tongue was going to fall out of his head when he saw her for lunch soon, she felt certain of it...

"Damn, I've gotta go. Sorry, Cordelia, but I've got a meeting to get to, and it's one I can't afford to miss," Aura said apologetically. "I wish we could spend the rest of the day together to catch up, but... "

"No problem, Aura. Trust me, you've helped a lot more than you know," Cordelia told her, unleashing her best thousand watt Pepsodent commercial smile. "And we'll catch up again soon, I'm sure."

Aura shook her head regretfully. "No, I don't think so – see, I'm leaving Sunnydale tomorrow! The sales and marketing division of my company is sending me to South America, and from there to Borneo to look into expanding our operations internationally; the CEO's entered into some sort of agreement with Turner & Peterson Construction, and I'm the advance scout on the whole thing. I'm pretty sure it'll be at least a month before I'm back... "

"A month? And you're leaving tomorrow? Well, ratz," Cordelia complained. "There goes my evil plan to get you to help me figure out my entire life, from this point onwards!"

Aura laughed, doing the air-kiss thing again. "Good luck with that, girl friend. Oh, almost forgot! If you don't remember anything since junior year – you don't know about Harmony, do you?"

"Harmony? What about her?"

Aura sent her a sad look. "She's a vampire, nowadays."

"WHAT?!"

"Yeah, it happened at Graduation, or so I heard," Aura shrugged. "Someone killed her, and turned her into one of them. Just thought I should mention it, in case you run into her while you're in town."

"Well, thanks," Cordelia replied, looking stunned. { _Wow. Harmony, a vampire? I bet she must be totally freaking about not having a reflection anymore!_ }

"You're welcome. Oh, and if you're thinking of getting Xander back, since you're still seventeen upstairs? Don't leave it too long before you go for it, or some other woman will probably reel him in first."

"As if! I'm still Cordelia Chase, Aura, and whatever else may have happened over the past four or five years – if I make up my mind to go after something, I get it, even if I have to claw the other woman's eyes out!"

Aura laughed again, grabbing her into a big hug, before saying goodbye – the mocha-skinned woman going one direction and the former Queen C another, Cordy heading back to Xander's apartment to meet him there in order for them to meet up and have lunch together.

And then, oh, then...

At long last, she was going to visit the Promised Land.

In other words, going shopping at the Sunnydale Mall, along with her favorite pack mule!

TBC…

* * *

A/N: WesGeorge, thank you for your review and kind words; and Faith's story will be continued soon, the same for all the other characters. And thank you to everyone else for reading and PM'ing and providing feedback for the story! As always, please keep it coming... it rennervates and inspires us, if you'll pardon the expression. :) Whether it's praise or a scathing criticism or anything in between, we want to hear it from you!


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

 _Monday, November 11, 2002 – somewhere in Los Angeles, California; a few hours after midnight:_

Charles Gunn wasn't entirely sure what was going on right now... but after parting company with the uptight limey ass, he figured his best chance to learn the truth lay with finding his gang and his little sister, ASAP.

He cursed the fact that he had no idea where his pickup truck was, the vehicle for which he'd sold his soul to that demon named Jenoff. On account of walking the streets of L.A. after midnight, alone, wasn't exactly the best strategy for survival. But luck was with him, and eventually Gunn arrived at a building with a rod-iron fence and barbed wire looped through it. Frowning, he made his way past the fence, and entered the abandoned-looking building.

{ _What the heck..._ } Gunn thought to himself, looking around. The room was lit by several candles, and graffiti covered most of the walls. { _What_ _ **happened**_ _to this place? It wasn't like this, last time I saw it!_ }

A Hispanic guy suddenly attacked him with a staff, appearing out of nowhere – but Gunn easily matched the other man's moves. After ducking and weaving for a couple of moments, Charles chopped the staff in half with his ax, tripped his opponent onto his back and held his weapon against his attacker's neck – only to sense a loaded crossbow being put against his own neck, by another guy that had come up behind him.

"You might wanna drop the weapon," an unfamiliar voice said. "Otherwise, my trigger finger might get a mite itchy."

Frowning, Gunn did as he was ordered. He then turned around and took a look at the crossbow, with the point of the bolt now just inches away from his face. "Nice rig."

"Glad you like it," the gang member said calmly.

"He should. He built it."

Frowning, Gunn turned around to look at that source of that voice, as he _**recognized**_ it; but then freezing horror engulfed him. "RONDELL?"

The black man frowned at Gunn's tone. "Yeah. What's wrong with you, dog? And why are you even here? Figured our last meeting was just that – our last meeting."

"You're old," Gunn said thickly, unable to believe what he was seeing. "I mean – you don't look seventeen no more, man. Whatdafuq is goin' on here? And where's Alonna?"

"Alonna?" Rondell looked at him in shock, before he grew angry. "You kiddin' me? She's _**dead!**_ You dusted her over two years back, after that goddamn vamp turned her! What's _**wrong**_ with you, man?!"

"YOU'RE LYING!" Gunn yelled, rushing forward and grabbing Rondell by the front of his shirt. "She's not dead! She's not! She can't be! Damn it, where's my little sister?!"

The loud _**click!**_ sounds of a number of crossbows and a number of other weapons made Gunn pause in his rant, as Rondell called out to the troops, "Hey, no! Stand down, he ain't gonna hurt me... "

"You sure 'bout that? 'Cause way I heard it, he turned his back on all of us to hook up with some vampire," one of the gang members growled, glaring at Gunn.

Startled, Charles abruptly released Rondell and turned to face his accuser. "Say _**what?**_ "

"You heard me, vamp lover. You been hangin' with your demon buddies," the young man spat.

"Man, you are fuckin' crazy!" Gunn yelled out at the top of his voice, startling just about everyone present. Charles then turned to Rondell with a pleading look on his face. "Tell 'im, bro! Ain't no way in _**hell**_ I'd ever do something like that!"

Rondell frowned. "C'mon. You 'n me, Gunn, we need ta take a walk – talk in private."

"You sure that's a good idea?" the Hispanic guy whom Gunn had easily disarmed asked doubtfully.

"Who's in charge here, Tommy – me or you?" Rondell asked challengingly. Upon seeing the other man's acquiescence to his authority, Rondell grabbed the ax – then he grabbed Gunn by the wrist and led him outside.

Over the next half-hour or so, Rondell told him a lot of things: stuff which Charles simply _**could not**_ accept to be true. From their first meeting with Angel, to their last meeting after the gang had attacked and destroyed a demon nightclub called Caritas. Rondell told him bluntly, "And that's where we're at, bro. Despite what y'all think, this ain't '95 no more – figger you musta hit your head and gotten some kinda amnesia, ya lost the last seven years or so?"

"Freakin' unbelievable," Gunn muttered, before turning to look at this older-looking version of his best friend. "You really think I turned my back on everyone to hook up with one of them, don't you?"

"I don't think it, Gunn – I _**know**_ it," Rondell shrugged. His friend then sent him a pitying look. "Truth? I ain't heard a word from you in months – not since last time we talked outside that demon club, 'n we agreed ta go our separate ways. Night I promised y'all me and mine weren't gonna be crossing Venice Boulevard again, least not any time soon. Hell, I was even starting to wonder if you were still in this world... "

"How did this happen, man?" Gunn practically begged him.

Rondell shrugged again. "I figure it was Alonna what started it. Things were just never the same after that."

"I couldn't even keep my own sister safe?" Gunn asked hopelessly.

"No. But – wasn't your fault, not really," Rondell said uncomfortably. "You still remember that much on what it was like, don'tcha? Sometimes, no matter what, we lose people. So don't beat yerself up 'bout it too much. 'Sides, vamp what killed her is dust, happened after ya staked yer li'l sis. Not sure that helps, but it's the truth – for whatever that's worth, anyways."

"Right. So, now what?" Gunn asked, still sunk in the depths of misery and despair.

"You can't stay here," Rondell shook his head, causing him to look at his best friend sharply. "Your reputation bein' what it is, can't afford ta let ya stay, however much I want to. Somebody would end up dead – maybe you, maybe one of my boys. My advice? Go back to that hotel you woke up in, 'n ask your buddies there fer help ta get yer memory back."

"And what if I don't want my memory back?" Gunn asked, rising up to his full height. "Or, what if they can't help me? What if I'm _**stuck**_ like this, permanent-like?"

"I dunno, Gunn," Rondell said with a soft sigh. "All I know fer sure is you burned all your bridges here, long time ago. You're still my friend," he added, "but you ain't got no place among us no more. I try to bring you back into the fold, only thing that'll happen is a goddamn riot, and then they'll string _**both**_ of us up the nearest lamp post. Like I said, go back to that hotel and your buds there. Best advice I can offer."

Rondell abruptly hugged Gunn and gave him the ax back, before turning and walking back inside the building. His friend tossed a brief farewell over his shoulder, "Vaya con Dios, bro. And like I said – don't come back."

The expression on Gunn's face had to be seen to be believed.

* * *

 _The same time – an alley somewhere in the greater metropolitan district, Los Angeles; night:_

Gazing around, the souled vampire who thought of himself as 'Liam O'Reilly' was still trying to deal with the horrifying lunacy he'd become entrapped within, after waking up a few hours ago.

{ _Madness, this is. Sheer madness. I musta died and gone to Hell, that's gotta be it,_ } Liam thought to himself, trying to understand everything he had seen and gone through since waking up earlier tonight. { _Me da always said I'd come to a bad end, he did, that I was a sinner – and that I'd end up in the Devil's clutches. Plus, nowadays I'm apparently a... a vampire..._ }

It wasn't easy for Liam to maintain his sanity right at the moment, especially in the face of that particular bit of knowledge. Not to mention that as far as he was concerned, all the cars he'd seen were rampaging demons – and that English pig, the Blackamoor, and the two fishwives he'd encountered earlier were just part of the overall nightmare. All he wanted was to go home...

Liam desperately wanted to see the familiar sights of Éire again, the sweet blessed rolling hills and valleys of his beloved Galway. He also wanted to see his mother, his little sister Kathy, and even his father; hard though that was to admit to himself. He especially wanted to see the family servant, Anna, despite the recent falling out between them...

"Hey, mister, you OK?"

Liam started, and turned around to see a blond woman standing in the alley. She looked concerned as she asked, "Seriously, are you all right? You look kinda... "

"Who are ye?" Liam asked, not wanting to hear what he looked like right now.

"The name's Nina Ash," the young woman shrugged, introducing herself.

"Ah. I'm Liam. So... uh, ye wouldn't happen to have a flask of ale, would ya, lass?" Liam asked. He leaned back against the wall of the alley, shaking his head. "I don't care what me father says the Devil's brew does to a man, right now – I need ta get stinking drunk."

"Uh, no, but there's an all-night bar not far away, I went past it just now. Will that do?"

"Bar?" Liam briefly stumbled over the unfamiliar slang. "Do ye mean a tavern, or-or an ale house?"

"Yeah, I guess," Nina blinked over his terminology. "Are you sure about this, though? I mean, trying to drown your problems with alcohol – it doesn't work for long. Personal experience talking here."

"What's that supposed ta mean, lass?"

"Oh, I went through a messy breakup recently," Nina shrugged. "So I started drinking, in order to forget about that creep I fell for. Only problem is, it didn't work."

Liam could not help feeling sympathy for this girl, even if some of her words were incomprehensible to him. "Sorry to hear that, lass. And – sorry for acting so woman-ish, bleating about me own problems."

Nina smiled. "That's OK."

Suddenly, Liam's gaze was drawn to Nina's throat. He could hear the pounding of her heart, could smell the delicious scent of her blood wafting towards his nostrils. Liam's face morphed to that of a yellow-eyed vampire, bumpy forehead and everything, as he started to close the gap between them.

Immediately, Nina screamed. "OH MY GOD!" She turned around and started to run, but Liam easily caught up with her. Moving solely on instinct, his fangs moved towards her throat...

{ _What am I doing?_ } Liam suddenly asked himself, as he abruptly let the girl go and recoiled away from her. { _What in God's name am I_ _ **doing**_ _?_ } He shook his head and told Nina roughly, "Go on, lass, run – get out o' here. It's not safe to be being around me, I'm thinking!"

Unsurprisingly, the blond instantly ran for her life.

Liam watched her go, shaking his head and fighting down the urge to chase after her. He then walked out of the alley, and took a big sniff, trying to sort out all the various smells his undead nose could perceive. He was able to smell the alcohol at a location close by, like the lass had mentioned, and so headed for the strange-looking tavern – or 'bar', as they apparently called it here.

Once inside, he calmed down a bit. Although in one sense this 'bar' was strange and unfamiliar to his eyes, there were enough similarities to the taverns of Galway to enable him to relax somewhat.

"Barkeep!" Liam called out to the man wiping the main counter. "Some Irish whiskey, please. Jameson's or Bushmills, if'n ye have it."

The bartender frowned for a moment, feeling like there was something off about his latest customer. But then he shrugged and grabbed a bottle off the shelf behind him, before pouring some of the whiskey into a shot glass. The barman apparently didn't notice Liam staring at the huge mirror behind the counter, or the shocked expression on his face when he couldn't see his own reflection. The man just said, "Here ya go, mac."

"Aye, it's thanking ye, I am," Liam said gratefully, before he downed the shot of whiskey. "Another! In fact, I'll be taking the whole damn bottle, I'm thinkin'... "

"All right. You got the money to pay for it, though? This stuff ain't cheap, you know," the bartender said suspiciously.

"Money? Ah... " Liam hesitated, before he started searching himself. He quickly found his wallet, opened it up and stared at his I.D. "Huh. What's this? Look – pictures! So lifelike... "

The bartender rolled his eyes, leaned over, grabbed the wallet and took out a number of bills. He then gave the wallet back to Liam and said, "That'll cover you for the full bottle of Jameson's, friend. Anything else after that, you're gonna hafta cough up some more cash."

"Aye, as ye say, barkeep," Liam nodded, deciding that even though he may be a vampire now, and stuck in Hell to boot, his situation wasn't all that bad. "Just keep that whiskey comin'."

The bartender obliged. "Here ya go."

Liam eagerly drank up at least half the bottle, before starting to giggle. He said somewhat drunkenly, "Och! That's some damn fine whiskey you're servin' me, barkeep. Say, can ya gimme a blood chaser to go with that Jameson's? A BIG one?"

The barman rolled his eyes again. { _Why am I the one who always get all the weirdos, during the late shift?_ }

* * *

 _Many hours later – kitchen of 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale; early morning:_

"Damn it," Buffy cursed, as she hung up the telephone without being able to leave a message. Again. There had been no response to her phone call to Angel's hotel in L.A. just now, exactly like every other time she'd called there since talking with Cordelia and Xander last night. And just as sure as death and taxes – well, taxes, anyway – that particular conversation must have been predestined to _**not**_ go well.

Buffy knew that all the recriminations which had ensued after she and Spike had bounced off that invitation barrier hadn't been absolutely necessary, strictly speaking. But she'd been upset and annoyed, and she'd thought that she could count on Xander to help with regard to her former lover. It had been something of a nasty shock for her to learn just how wrong that assumption had been.

Still, the way Cordelia had indignantly taken Xander's side in the 'discussion', and the way that girl had asked her just what the hell her damage was... yeah, all that certainly hadn't helped matters.

"You stay out of this, Amnesia Girl. You have no idea what things are like nowadays in _**my**_ town!" Buffy had told her angrily, after learning just why Cordelia was back in Sunnydale.

"Your town?! Hey! I grew up here, Little Miss Cry-Buffy! It's more my town than yours, Immigrant Girl!" Cordelia had ranted back.

Sighing, Buffy remembered the argument getting more and more acrimonious on both sides, before Xander had finally said, "OK, time out! Look, Buff, bottom line is this. Spike's not welcome in my home anymore – and things are quickly reaching the point where _**you**_ may not be, either. So get him outta here, and we'll talk about this tomorrow. _**If**_ you've calmed down enough for us to talk rationally and sensibly about it, anyway. Now, GOOD NIGHT!"

To say that Buffy hadn't been happy with the situation at that point was like saying the Earth was a little bit round, or the Sun was a little bit hot. Still, she'd reluctantly decided to resettle Spike elsewhere, either in his old crypt or Angel's old mansion – before grabbing the chipped vampire by the wrist and departing.

Unfortunately, the crypt hadn't been an option and neither had the Crawford Street mansion; both had been demolished by this point. One by Spike's enemies, and the other by City Hall. So, with nowhere else to go, Spike had accompanied her to her home and slept in the basement.

Buffy had to admit to herself that she was slightly weirded out by this whole thing, especially since she couldn't reach anyone at Angel's hotel. But whatever was going on in L.A. right now, she needed to talk to Dawn about –

"AHHHHHH! Spike?! What the hell are you doing here? Wait, did you spend the night? With _**Buffy?!**_ " Dawn's loud and incredulous voice could easily be heard all the way in the kitchen, as the Slayer quickly raced towards the stairs in order to quickly deal with this.

"Dawn!" Buffy said, screeching to a halt as her indignant-looking sister turned to glare at her. "Damn it, calm down; it's not what you think! Nothing happened between me and Spike last night, it's just – well, Xander acted like a total horse's ass, and kicked Spike out of his apartment – "

"Gee, I wonder why," Dawn interrupted, her glare not softening in the slightest.

"You ask me, whelp was thinkin' with his John Thomas – now that the Cheerleader's moved in," Spike shrugged.

Dawn looked at him in confusion. "Xander was thinking with his John what? And a cheerleader? What cheerleader?"

"Never mind," Buffy cut in, feeling annoyed with Spike. As far as she was concerned, Dawn didn't need to socialize with Cordelia Chase of all people. So she said to her sibling, "Dawn, all you need to know is that I let Spike stay here last night. He, uh, he's going to be staying in the basement, until he can find another crypt or someplace like that."

"I see. So, when were you planning to ask me if I was OK with this? Lemme guess – the twelfth of never?" Dawn demanded angrily.

"Dawn!" Buffy automatically snapped at her, as the sisterly argument started to kick into high gear. She never noticed as Spike silently disappeared through the door leading down to the basement...

"Buffy, what's the matter with you?!" Dawn ranted. "Why the _**hell**_ do you want the guy who almost raped you hanging around here?"

"Don't call him that!" Buffy responded, with an annoyed look on her face.

"Why not?"

"Because... " Buffy trailed off, briefly. "Well, he has a soul now. It's, it's kinda like the situation with Angel – whatever Spike did before that, it's _**not**_ his fault now. So I don't want to hear you calling him that anymore, OK?"

"Fine. Still, compared to some of the nicknames Xander has for him – " Dawn started to say.

" _ **Don't**_ talk to me about Xander," Buffy cut her off, instantly. "He's not exactly on my list of favorite people right now!"

"Why, just 'cause he kicked Spike out of his home? Oh my God, who are you – and what have you done with my sister?" Dawn demanded belligerently. "'Cause no way would the real Buffy be this much of a control freak!"

"That's enough, Dawn!" Buffy shouted, trying to remember how her mom spoke during these sorts of situations. Definitely time to be the Voice of Authority around here. "End of discussion. Now come on, you need to eat something before I drive you to school!"

"I'm not hungry anymore," Dawn said sullenly, staring at the ground before looking up at Buffy. "Something – or some _one_ – has made me lose my appetite!"

"Fine, then let's get going," Buffy said, reaching out to grab her sister's arm.

"Don't touch me," Dawn snapped at her, recoiling. "Hey, I don't wanna catch any necrophilia cooties off of you!"

" _ **What**_ did you just say to me?!" Buffy shouted in infuriated disbelief, unable to believe that her own flesh and blood would sink to that level.

"Well, gee, Brain; I could use shorter words, but then my name's not Pinky," Dawn fired back.

Buffy grabbed Dawn's arm again; but the Key subsequently grabbed hold of Buffy's hair and started yanking and pulling to make her sister let go. It didn't take long for her to respond in kind, but luckily, Willow showed up as the fight began...

And the redhead quickly ended it, before either Dawn or herself did or said something unforgivable.

* * *

 _A few hours later – Sumi's Clothing, Sunnydale Mall, Sunnydale; lunchtime:_

"Damn it," Xander said to himself impatiently, sitting on a chair within the clothes boutique and glancing at his watch. He and Cordelia had less than fifteen minutes before they were due to meet up with Willow in the food court, but he figured his ex-girlfriend must have forgotten that factoid – or else, because she thought she was still the Cordelia Chase of four or five years ago, the woman simply didn't _**care**_ about anyone's schedule other than her own.

It had been quite the surprise arriving home, and seeing her with her natural hair color restored. He figured Cordy had probably inflicted some moderate damage on his credit card, but he could deal with that later. { _It's more important to fix her memory loss, anyway,_ } he thought to himself. Still, this little blast from the past – keeping him waiting, while she tried on whatever clothes took her fancy – it wasn't something that Xander was particularly happy with.

He figured he'd already suffered through enough of that crap, back in high school.

More time passed, and he grew more and more impatient with every passing moment – until Cordelia finally stepped out of the change room. She was wearing a glamorette dress, something emphasizing all her curves in all the right ways. Turquoise blue, the low-cut hip-hugging outfit was definitely fetish fuel for all his teenage fantasies where his former girlfriend was concerned. Vaguely, Xander figured it was also the stuff of his current sexual fantasies...

"You like it?" Cordelia smiled, twirling around and giving him quite the eyeful.

"You look... incredible," Xander managed to say, trying not to let saliva dribble down his chin at the sight of her.

The smile on Cordelia's face was almost blinding. It was obvious she knew exactly what sort of power her body held over him, and that she was basking in the unspoken appreciation of her efforts. "Thank you."

"Come on, let's pay for the dress and get out of here," Xander said abruptly, checking his watch again. "Otherwise, we're gonna be late for our meeting with Willow."

"Yeah. Right. Wouldn't want that," Cordelia rolled her eyes, as she headed back towards the change room.

Narrowing his eyes, Xander abruptly followed her, pushing her in and closing the double doors behind him as she squawked slightly. "Hey! What are you doing in here? Damn it, Dork – OK, not really complaining as such, but you – "

"Cordelia, I think we need to clarify something right now," Xander cut her off, putting a finger to her lips. "Why did you choose this particular dress to buy, out of everything they had available in this store? And please, be honest."

"When am I ever not?" Cordelia replied, staring him right in the eye. "And, duh! Why did you _**think**_ I chose something like this, an outfit which I knew would make you start drooling straightaway? Come on, Lame Brain, I'm sure even you can do _**that**_ math!"

"Ohhhh... I was afraid of that," Xander sighed, leaning back against the wall.

Cordelia briefly looked confused, and it was fairly obvious that she didn't like that feeling. "What? _**What?**_ The fact that I please you visually is a problem now?"

"No, Cordy, it's just... " Xander trailed off. "Well, you're making a big mistake, and I'm just trying to figure out a way to lessen the pain for once Willow gets you back to normal."

"Pain? And mistake?" Cordelia demanded, looking like she had no clue what he was talking about.

"Yeah. Look... maybe you don't get it, but this isn't the real you. Not anymore," Xander tried to explain. "Cordy, I'm flattered – I really am – but if you were in your right mind, you absolutely wouldn't be doing this right now."

"What are you talking about?!"

"You thinking up ways for us to get back together," Xander said simply, which caused her to freeze in dismay. "Truth is that here and now, you're... uh, you're like the Ghost of Girlfriends Past, if ya know what I mean? The Cordelia Chase during high school, who was an item with yours truly. But that's not who you are _ **anymore**_ , you understand what I'm saying? The Cordelia Chase of the present left me behind years ago and she lives in L.A. nowadays, she works with Dead Boy and the rest of his crew at that hotel on Hyperion Avenue. She hasn't spoken to me in ages, and I'm simply not part of her life anymore... "

He sighed. "That's why I'm pretty sure that once you remember who you really are, you're gonna look back on modeling this particular outfit for me – and then cringe in horror," he said, way too bluntly. "And I'd prefer to spare you that kind of pain, if I possibly can."

"You, you, you JERK!" Cordelia shouted angrily. He ignored the insult as she ranted at him, "What's the _**matter**_ with you? Here am I, practically throwing myself at you – and you're trying to be all noble and self-sacrificing like this? What the hell is this crap? Why the heck won't you even try to fight for me? For _**us?**_ "

"That's... complicated," Xander said feebly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"So _un_ -complicate it!" The brunette then looked like she'd just had an epiphany. "Oh, wait, now I get it. You simply don't feel that way about me anymore, right? You love that Anya girl instead, who you left at the altar?"

"No, it's not that," Xander had an introspective look on his face for a moment. "Or at least... Cordy, even though I was happy with Anya, and I told her that I loved her and wanted to marry her – and at the time I really did, don't get me wrong – deep down, I never quite managed to fall out of love with you. I may have buried them and poured cement over the grave; but those feelings for you are still there, believe it or not."

She froze up again, apart from her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Eventually, Cordelia cleared her throat. Then she whispered, "You never told me that you were in love with me before. Not that I can remember, anyway."

"Yeah, I know. And waiting until now to actually admit it to you, one of the biggest regrets of my life," Xander shrugged sadly. "I _**was**_ going to tell you at one point during senior year, actually. But certain things happened, and afterwards – never seemed like it was appropriate to say it." He sighed again. "Like the making out with Willow, and the rebar, and everything else. I just... couldn't ever say those three words to you, especially after I stopped trying to get you back."

"Yeah. But you still haven't told me – why? I mean, what did Willow give you back then that I couldn't?" Cordelia asked, looking as if she was unsure whether she wanted to know the answer to that question.

"I dunno," Xander shrugged again. "Gotta admit, I've thought about it on and off over the years. But apart from me being a hormonal jackass, I still can't explain what happened during those six weeks. I mean, I knew it was a mistake right from the start, and so did Will... OK, she'd been in love with me since kindergarten, so that might explain her part in it. But as for me... "

He paused, briefly. "I don't know, Cor, I honestly don't. Like I said, I knew it was wrong, but I just... I basically couldn't help myself, whenever I was around Willow back then. It's no excuse, I know, it just is what it is. And even though we had sex more than once afterwards, you simply couldn't get past that sort of betrayal in order for us to officially get back together. And that's the cold harsh truth, I'm afraid."

Cordelia stared at him, before unceremoniously pushing him out of the change room. Xander stumbled for a moment, attempting to regain his footing as the woman shut the doors. She then took off the dress and changed back into her regular clothes. She quickly stormed out of the booth and over to the main sales counter – sighing loudly, Xander paid for her outfit and then followed his pissed-off ex out of the boutique.

They made their way to the main area of the mall, and Xander spied Willow's unmistakable red hair in the food court. He called out her name and waved to her.

Willow got up, smiled and waved back; but then she saw Cordelia's stormy look of fury, and to his total lack of surprise, the smile quickly vanished off her face...

Love triangles. Even if they were, like, four years out of date – and one of the girls was suffering from magical amnesia? Whew! Mess-ee.

TBC…

* * *

A/N: Seriously - you didn't think Xander and Cordelia would get back together just like that, did you? With those two, _nothing_ is ever that simple! Plus, for the record, we should mention that in this story, the characters _will_ occasionally call each other out on their crap. No bashing intended or desired; we're just trying to be as realistic as possible, which means people will scream and fight and argue with each other, the same way they do in real life. And they'll get in each other's faces and say hurtful things, and come up with stuff that isn't necessarily true. The characters are not always right – just right as _they_ see it, which is different. Anyway, thanks for reading and (hopefully) reviewing the latest instalment of the story!


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

 _Monday, November 11, 2002 – attic of the Natural History Museum, Los Angeles; a few hours after midnight:_

"Holy crap," Officer Hodges said in amazement, turning his flashlight here and there – and examining the loft which somebody had turned into a pseudo-apartment of sorts.

"I know," his partner said in reply, likewise examining the area using his own flashlight. They could both see the bed, the television, even the leftover junk food. Then Castillo spotted something somewhat unusual and said, "Look at this... "

"Guessing Amnesia Girl is in a lot more trouble than she knows," Hodges said, putting on a pair of latex gloves and picking up Ms. Chase's high school yearbook, before opening it and seeing her name written at the top of the first page. "Yup, it's definitely hers."

"Damn," Castillo cursed softly, as he looked the book over. Once the Hispanic was done, Hodges placed the yearbook back where he'd found it. "What a freaking mess."

"You're telling me," Hodges grimaced. "I mean, it sure as heck looks like Miss Chase is guilty of breaking and entering, plus illegal squatting on private property. Not to mention living here with that kid who ran off and resisted arrest. And we actually gave her a lift to the nearest train station? _**Jee-zus**_ , do you have any idea how that's going to look like on the report?"

"Sure do. Gonna leave a helluva black mark on both our records, I'm thinking," the older policeman shrugged. "Don't know why you didn't talk me out of it... "

"Hey – I'm not the one who wanted to follow all this up, after our shift was officially over," Hodges retorted. He looked around before adding, " _ **I**_ was content to let it all go, pal. _**You**_ were the one who insisted on us coming here, and look for more answers on tonight's little mystery girl. Well, we sure done found some, didn't we?"

"Yeah," Castillo scratched the back of his neck, before lowering his flashlight. "Even if they aren't the answers I was hoping for."

"Right." Hodges sighed, before reaching up for his shoulder mike. "Well, hell. May as well call it in and get this over with... "

"Hold on a second," Castillo abruptly swung his flashlight up. "Maybe there's a way we can avoid catching all the flak for this one."

"What do you mean?"

Castillo already had his cell phone out. He punched in some numbers and then said, "Hey, Lew? Do you still have Detective Kate Lockley's number? Yeah, I know she quit the force ages ago, whatever – do you have it or not? OK, good, thanks!"

Hodges wasn't sure exactly what was going on, or what the heck Castillo was planning, but what the hell – partners were supposed to trust one another, and if the guy he trusted with his life actually had an idea to get them out of this mess? Better that, than the alternative...

He wanted to make captain in the department one day, after all.

* * *

 _A few hours later – garden at the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; night:_

"Damn it," Gunn said to himself, kicking a patch of grass in annoyance. He looked up at the somewhat dilapidated old building, scowling. { _This is supposed to be home, nowadays? This is where I actually belong? Plus, I work with a bunch of white folks, even a goddamn vampire? One that's supposed to be a good guy, or at least not actively killin' people? Man, that is so totally screwed up! How the hell did my life get_ _ **this**_ _screwed up?_ }

Finally deciding 'to hell with it', Charles went up to the front doors of the hotel and tried to open them – but to his surprise, they were locked. Shrugging, he made his way to the doors leading to the garden court, and quickly entered the hotel the same way he'd left it with that British asshole, few hours back.

{ _All right. Now what?_ } he asked himself. Quickly deciding to explore the place, Gunn hefted his ax and set off on a journey of discovery. He quickly learned that the hotel was huge; there were hundreds of rooms present, along with a basement the size of a freaking football field. Charles eventually got tired of aimlessly traipsing around the building, though – there was nothing much to see, all the rooms he'd checked out were empty and uninteresting. So he decided to go back to the lobby –

"Damn," Gunn cursed again, looking around and deciding to put the ax back into the cabinet where he'd originally found it. If everything Rondell had told him was true, the weapon probably belonged there anyway. As soon as that was done, though, he heard the rattling of keys and the sound of a lock turning at the front doors.

Just before that Fred girl, some guy he'd never met before, and a freakin' _**demon**_ walked into the damn lobby!

* * *

 _A few moments earlier – outside the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; night:_

Connor was willing to admit – privately, at least – that he had mixed feelings about this place, as he accompanied the demon and Fred up the path to the front doors of the detective agency.

He knew that Angel's hotel was the place where he had been conceived, the place where he should have grown up – had Holtz not abducted him as a baby. He could remember living here with Gunn and Fred all last summer, feeling... well, if not content, then at least well along the road to getting there, after properly punishing the vampire who'd murdered the man he'd called 'Father' all his life.

But then his whole world had come crashing down all around him, after that Wesley person had raised Angel out of the ocean. After learning that his adopted father had committed suicide and framed the vampire for it, and then getting kicked out of here after Fred had nearly tasered him to death...

All that had definitely poisoned his memories of this particular residence. That was why Connor suspected that it would be best for him and Cordelia to avoid the hotel and its occupants completely, after she was found and restored to her proper self.

There was nothing for him here, not really. Not anymore. No matter what Angel might prefer to think.

"So, tell us more about this Quaker Oats place you ended up in," Fred suddenly asked him, and Connor briefly glanced at her in surprise. He still wasn't used to her acting so... friendly. Not to mention a lot less smart than he knew she was.

He remained silent for a few seconds, thinking it over. "Quor-toth is Hell," he eventually said, which appeared to give Fred a case of goose bumps and the demon one of outright chills. "Everything there is... the total opposite of here. No sun. No stars. No clouds. There's just the red sky, and black earth, and that thick foul stench in the air. And there are demons there... "

"Demons?" the unclean thing asked, looking queasy. "You mean, like me?"

"No. They're not like... for one thing, they're a lot bigger. And a lot deadlier. You probably wouldn't last five minutes in Quor-toth before something ate you. And my life there, it was just – running. Hiding. Killing. Feeding. Looking after my – Holtz."

"Yeah, you mentioned that guy before," Fred nodded. "Sorry for your loss, by the way – "

"No you're not," Connor cut her off with a brief glare. "Or, rather, you are _**now**_ – but that'll change, once you people get your memories back. Believe me, I _**know**_."

Without waiting for a response, Connor grabbed the keys to his father's home out of her hands and unlocked the front doors. He ignored the hurt look on Fred's face, and the reprimanding one on the demon's; the Miracle Child knew he wouldn't be seeing them if these two were in their right minds. He led the way into Angel Investigations, both the human and the demon hesitantly following him inside –

Only to find Gunn close by the weapons cabinet, the look on his face somehow both astonished and murderous at the same time.

"DEMON!" Connor heard the black man yell, and then he saw Fred's boyfriend come charging towards them – no, towards the green-skinned demon – and, instantly understanding the situation, Connor acted to prevent Gunn from killing his temporary ally of convenience.

It mattered little to the Destroyer of Quor-toth that the demon in the fancy suit got knocked unconscious, before he could subdue Gunn by punching him out cold. The only thing Connor really cared about right now was Cordelia, after all.

"Oh my goodness, what did you just do?" Fred cried, rushing over to examine the man who – according to Connor, anyway – was her boyfriend.

Connor shrugged. "He'll live. They both will."

* * *

 _Many hours later – not far from the Magic Box, Maple Court, Sunnydale; early afternoon:_

Willow Rosenberg definitely had a headache from the aftermath of Hurricane Cordelia, earlier at the Sunnydale Mall's food court.

Oh, sure, theoretically she'd known that Angel's Vision Girl had lost her memory, and had reverted to the personality she'd had back in high school. Junior year, around the time of that whole red Speedo's incident. But Willow had to admit to herself, she hadn't been prepared – nowhere _**near**_ ready – for the reality of a Cordelia Chase who couldn't help thinking she was still seventeen, and who had just found out her boyfriend had cheated on her with his best friend, way back when.

{ _I swear, during lunch – I think she was actually trying to make my head explode, just with the power of her thoughts,_ } Willow thought uncomfortably, driving Buffy's Jeep Cherokee as she glanced at Xander's burgundy Taurus with the side-view mirror. { _Which, nowadays, Hellmouth 'n all – might be something I should actually be worried about?_ }

OK, she knew that Cordelia had a right to be upset about all that, even if it was all totally in the past as far as everyone else was concerned. So Willow figured the best thing to do was just humor the Amnesia Girl for as long as possible, and restore her memory as soon as she could. Hopefully, Cordelia would then cease being such a b-i-t-c-h, and return to being the long-distance friend she had turned into over the past three years.

Pulling over after finding a convenient parking spot, Willow got out of the Jeep and waited for Xander and Cordelia to join her. They soon did so, after walking a short distance from farther down the street. Willow looked on as Cordelia came to a stop, and examined the exterior of the Magic Box.

"So, this is the place?" Cordy asked, giving it another quick once-over.

"Grown-up version of the old Sunnydale High library, yup," Xander nodded, before looking at his watch. "And now, I must bid you lovely ladies adieu."

"What? Where are you going?" Cordelia demanded, looking less than pleased with this news.

"Shopping. And before you say anything, Cor, it's not _**that**_ kind of shopping," Xander said quickly, after seeing his ex-girlfriend open her mouth. "I'm gonna go buy some bedding and stuff, everything I need to make the spare room suitable for you to live in. And unlike you, when I go shopping? I already know what I want, so I get it and then I leave straightaway. So, better for me and better for you to stay here with Will while I go do what I gotta do, OK?"

He gave her a cheerful smile, before waving goodbye. "Later."

"Uggh! Infuriating, exasperating... man!" Cordelia growled, watching him depart.

"Well, Xander's not that bad, compared to some," Willow responded automatically. She then cringed, almost, at the venomous look Cordelia sent her way. "Uh, Cordy – "

"Don't you 'uh, Cordy' me, you backstabbing little traitor," Cordelia cut her off mercilessly. "Now, answer me this. Did we ever have a chat about the ethics of cheating on your boyfriend, and attempting to poach _**mine?**_ "

"Uh, sorta. Well, you told me you did, anyway," Willow babbled, slowly backing away.

"The heck is _**that**_ supposed to mean?"

"Uh, it was back in senior year, when the vampire me showed up from that Wish world Anya created," Willow said rapidly, noticing how Cordelia was following her – before her back abruptly smacked into the exterior wall of the building. "You, uh, you said later that you got all that stuff off of your chest, while she was locked up in the book cage?"

Cordelia looked confused for a moment, but then brushed it aside. "I've got no idea what you're talking about, but that doesn't matter right now. Damn it, Willow, I just want to know – why? I mean, I've already heard the Dweeb's version, why he thinks all of that crap happened. But now, I wanna hear it from you. Tell me why you two _**betrayed**_ _ **my trust**_ , damn you!"

"I can't," Willow shook her head, her cheeks burning with shame. "I mean, I, I just can't. I want to, but I – "

"Don't give me that bullshit!" Cordelia interrupted sternly. "Wait, lemme guess. Deep down you were gay all along, but Xander was still your... man crush?"

"What? No!" Willow said in immediate denial, shaking her head vigorously. "I mean, back then – I wasn't even remotely interested in girls! It wasn't until freshman year at UC Sunnydale when I met Tara that I... " She trailed off, choking back a sudden sob.

"Tara? Oh, yeah, I heard about her. Xander mentioned her last night. She was your girlfriend, right?" Cordelia asked, more gently than before.

"She was a lot more than that," Willow replied, fighting off the nightmarish memories of Tara's murder in their bedroom. "She was the love of my life, my soul mate, my – she was my, my everything. She was to me what you think Xander is to you, here and now."

From the look on her face, it seemed that Cordelia was uncomfortable after hearing that, but the brunette quickly got back on topic. "So then, why? Why that whole... what did Idiot Boy call it... clothes fluke, back then? And I got the impression last night that the Dork totally blames himself for it, but Willow, I'm sure you know how it takes _**two**_ to cheat that way. And I already know that Xander didn't force you into doing anything against your will; anyone else, I'd have to wonder, but not you. Not with the history you two share. So – let's hear it, you little tramp! Why did you betray Oz like that, never mind me?"

"I don't know," Willow said miserably, not wanting to think about something she had done her best to try to forget for the better part of half a decade. "I just – I don't know, Cordy. I tried to figure it out, especially after you got impaled by that rebar, but – I just don't get it. I can't explain it, not even to myself. It, it was almost like I was under a love spell or something, I swear by the Goddess – I loved Oz more than anything back then, but every time Xander came within five yards of me, all I could think about was him! His eyes, his nose, his lips – "

"Don't. Go. There," Cordelia hissed angrily, cutting her off at once. "I'm the only one allowed to think about Xander's lips that way!"

"Uh, no, sorry – but you're not," Willow disagreed, shaking her head firmly. "I mean, not anymore. Because you and Xander broke up a long time ago, and Anya took your place afterwards. _**She's**_ the one who's been part of his life for the past three years, after you left us all behind in your dust."

Cordelia looked ready to tear her a new one for that, but at the last moment, she visibly changed her mind. Grabbing her by the wrist, the former rich girl dragged her inside the magic shop.

"Welcome to the Magic Box, how can I help you – " Willow heard Anya say, before the polite and friendly tone vanished. "Oh, Willow, it's you. I should have known you'd be by today to disrupt my attempts to earn a living yet again. And who's your – "

"Anya, this is Cordelia. Cordelia Chase," Willow interrupted, as she wrenched her arm away from the former cheerleader's grasp. "You remember her, right?"

"Cordelia-? Oh, yes, I remember you now. You're that bitchy ex-client of mine, who was partly responsible for my amulet getting destroyed after Xander cheated on you," Anya said, her expression becoming cold and sullen in an instant.

Willow was stunned when her former classmate immediately punched Anya in the face, making the shopkeeper stumble back and hold her nose in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. "Cordy-!"

"She called me the b-word," the Chase woman said, as if that was all the explanation necessary. "And if you thought I was simply gonna take something like that from someone like her, Willow? Then you're deluded-plus! Even more than I thought you were."

Willow rolled her eyes, and went over to Anya. Muttering a healing spell, she fixed Anya's nose and then got out a handkerchief to help wipe away all the blood.

"Thanks," Anya told her absently, before turning to face Cordelia. With an icy rage in her voice, the former demon said, "You. Get out of my store. Before I call the cops, and have you arrested!"

"Really. On what charge?" Cordelia demanded.

"Assault and battery, for starters! Not to mention trespassing – "

"Trespassing?" Cordelia interrupted, gesturing scornfully. "This is a public store, lady. And as for the assault thing? Where's the evidence? Willow just magically fixed all the damage, remember? So go ahead, call the cops. In fact, ask for Detective Stein; he's a friend of my parents, or at least he used to be. It'll be good to catch up with him – oh, and discuss how the manager of this place has been living in Sunnydale under a fake I.D., since roughly four years ago. That'll certainly make for interesting conversation, won't it?"

"Cordelia!" Willow exclaimed, unable to believe how quickly the situation had degenerated into nightmarish trouble.

"What? Oh, don't worry, Willow, I won't mention to Daddy's old friend the illegal hacking you must have done in setting up the former demon with her fake identity. I still need you to help me get my memory back, remember?" Cordelia smiled at her with a venom-laced saccharine look on her face, which made Willow want to throw up.

"Help you get your memory back? You have amnesia of some sort?" Anya demanded.

"Yeah, sort of. Say, why don't we continue this discussion in private? Willow, you start setting up doing whatever mojo it is you have to do," Cordelia said, but without looking at her. The brunette maintained eye contact with Anya and added, "There somewhere around here where we can chat in private?"

"Buffy's training area, back of the store," Anya said grudgingly.

Before Willow could say anything, Cordelia grabbed Anya by the wrist and started dragging the shopkeeper away.

"Please don't kill each other. I wouldn't know _**how**_ to explain that one to Xander," she muttered under her breath, before wearily turning the CLOSED sign around on the front door of the shop and starting to search for the materials she needed for her spell.

* * *

 _A few moments later – the training area of Magic Box, Sunnydale; afternoon:_

Cordelia was not in the mood to pull any punches, as she and Anya entered the shop's back room. "We need to get a few things straight right now, Demon Girl."

"Don't call me that! And what are you talking about?" Anya demanded, yanking her arm loose.

"I'll call you whatever I damn well please. And knock it off with the attitude, or I'll hit you in the face a lot harder the next time," Cordelia said threateningly, subconsciously trying to assert her dominance as the alpha female around here. "Newsflash, but I have no friendly feelings towards you whatsoever. So get in my way, and I will stomp on you like a bug! Comprendez?" she demanded.

"Perfectly," Anya snarled. "Now what do you want? And you can't have Xander back, even if I do hate his guts for leaving me at the altar!"

"OK, then we have a problem. Because I intend to get him back, one way or another," Cordelia said way too calmly.

"No you can't!"

"Yes I can."

"No you can't!"

"Yes I – oh, this is getting ridiculous," Cordelia said in sudden exasperation. "Just accept the situation for what it is, Demon Girl. Because Xander was mine long before he was ever yours, and I'm gonna make him mine again – no matter how annoyed I am with him, right now!"

"Why? I mean, after all this time, what brought this on?" Anya demanded, calming down a little.

"We already sorta covered this, but I don't remember anything from May '98 onwards," Cordelia replied, crossing her arms and huffing to blow straggles of hair away from her eyes. "Far as I'm concerned, I'm still seventeen years old – and the Dork is still my boyfriend, however much he's changed since then."

"Oh!" Anya said in astonishment, the anger abruptly evaporating. "So, in other words, you're effectively non compos mentis and have no idea who you are nowadays. Well, that's OK then. From what Willow's said, as soon as you recover your wits, you'll get out of Sunnydale so fast you'll leave a contrail behind you. So I can afford to wait, and simply treat you like the unwelcome interloper you are until then."

Cordelia didn't like blunt and tactless when it was employed against her any more than the next girl. "And what if I decide to stay, once I remember everything?"

"Oh, pffftttt!" Anya airily dismissed that with a wave of her hand. "Impossible. I mean, I've heard how you have a life and a calling in Los Angeles, helping that sexually desirable vampire named Angel as his Seer. In fact, I'm somewhat surprised he's not already here to drag you back to L.A. with him... "

"From what I've been able to figure out, he almost certainly has the same sort of amnesia that I do, he thinks he's seventeen again – just like the others. Those Wesley, Fred and Gunn people," Cordelia said sourly, recalling the events of the previous night and using her not-inconsiderable intelligence to arrive at that conclusion.

"Oh? Hrmm. That means – ooh, ignorant eighteenth century male trapped in early twenty-first century America? Oh, my, now that's amusing! Just imagine what he must be going through," Anya smirked, before smiling broadly.

"No thanks, I prefer not to. 'Cause far as I'm concerned, he was Angelus just yesterday! And if I hadn't heard it from Xander himself, no _**way**_ I would've accepted the fact that I ended up working for that vampire as his secretary. Let alone become his Seer, or whatever," Cordelia shuddered in distaste.

"I have to admit, I'm actually curious about that one. I mean, just about every human seer comes into their power around the age of... what? Twenty-one, twenty-two? And yet, how old were you when that happened? Eighteen, nineteen at the most? That's way too young. I mean, eleven hundred years of experience talking, here," Anya frowned, looking at her oddly as the former demon visibly pondered this somewhat interesting happenstance.

Cordelia hesitated, but then decided to put that aside for now. To her mind, there were more pressing issues to discuss right at the moment. "Whatever, I mean – getting back on topic. Maybe I'll change my mind later, maybe I won't – but for now, I want my boyfriend back. So I gotta ask – do you want Xander back as well? Because if you do, I'm willing to fight you for him; may the best woman win type scenario."

"Are you trying to make me jealous? Because if so, it's working. Observe my shaking hands, and the shrill note of semi-hysteria in my voice," Anya replied, blinking in alarm. "Oh, by all the pestilent gods, I don't know what I want right now! All I know is I can't forgive him for what he did to me – but at the same time, I don't want to see Xander with anyone else. Least of all you," she added with annoying honesty.

"Grrrf! Arrgh. Look, I don't know what your deal is, Dem – Anya. But like you say, you've been around for over a thousand years. So you musta seen this sort of scenario before, right? The whole scorned woman deal? Guy leaves girl at the altar? So tell me, how does it usually end?"

Anya closed her eyes for a moment. "She ends up wishing for his penis to explode, or whatever, and then moves on to someone else."

Cordelia suppressed a shudder. "So, even if it doesn't work out between me and the Doofus, do you _**really**_ think there's any chance for you and him to get back to where you were, before he abandoned you on your wedding day? Honestly. Is there any real hope of reconciliation? Do you _**seriously**_ believe that there's a happily-ever-after in store for you and Xander, as things stand now?"

"I don't know," Anya shook her head, having a brief flashback to the night D'Hoffryn had killed Hallie and the conversation she and Harris had had outside that frat house. "Although, if I had to guess – well, I suppose the answer to your question would probably be... no."

"Well, there you go," Cordelia said, hiding all the relief and satisfaction she suddenly felt. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go see Willow. Fix this damn mess, somehow."

She walked out of the training room, a somewhat sad and despondent Anya trailing after her. Cordelia then said to the redhead, "OK, you ready to get this show on the road?"

"Um, yeah. Sorta," Willow nodded. "I was thinking maybe I could, y'know, look at your aura, and see what I can see. For starters, anyway."

"Really?" Cordy asked, looking confused. "I mean, from the way Xander was talking – I thought you could pretty much just snap your fingers, and problem solved?"

"Cordelia. How can I fix something that way, when I don't know what's wrong with it?" Willow asked, visibly trying to be patient.

"All right, then, fine. Go ahead. Oh – this isn't gonna hurt, is it?" Cordy wanted to know, frowning and sitting at the main research table at Willow's gesture.

The witch shook her head. "No, 'course not. OK, hold on a minute. I just need to focus... "

Cordelia shrugged minutely, trying to relax as Willow's green eyes went slightly glassy, and she stared at her former classmate for a while. Then Willow snapped out of it, and she frowned slightly. The redhead said, "Hrmm."

"Hrmm?" Anya gave her a curious, and somewhat questioning look.

"Interesting. And odd," Willow said, nodding.

"Meaning?" Cordelia raised an eyebrow and sent her an inquiring look.

"OK, from what I saw," Willow said slowly, "you don't seem to have a damaged aura. Not that I could tell, anyway. But there was a lot of darkness there as well, which didn't feel right." The witch frowned again and said slowly, "It's almost like there's something lurking underneath the surface of your aura... "

"Meaning?" Cordelia was starting to feel a bit alarmed, now.

"I don't know. I've never seen anything like this before. I'm going to have to look again, deeper," Willow replied. The witch's eyes became glassy again, as she looked at Cordelia. After a moment, though, Willow's eyes widened slightly – and then turned utterly black.

Immediately, there was a sharp CRACK! sound and a bright flash of white light – and both women were hurled backward from the table, across almost the entire length of the Magic Box.

TBC…

* * *

A/N: Sorry about the slight delay in getting the latest chapter out, folks, grading student essays simply sucks sometimes. Still, having said that, a woo-hoo! is definitely in order; because reviews for this fic have finally hit the triple digits mark! The number of hits for this fanfic isn't too bad, either. So, yet again, we'd like to thank you for reading and reviewing 'Memory', and ask you to please keep it coming! There's still lots of story yet to come...


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

 _Monday, November 11, 2002 – outside the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; morning:_

Kate Lockley. Formerly a member of L.A.'s finest, and one of the youngest police officers to ever make Detective – male or female. Smart, tough, competent, not to mention one of the most beautiful women in Los Angeles, a few years ago – any sociologist would have told you that she was on the fast track in life towards success and career advancement...

But then she'd met Angel, and her life had been sucked down into a quicksand of personal and professional disaster.

First off, Kate's entire world-view had been shattered by learning that vampires and other creatures of the night really did exist. Then her father had been murdered by one of the undead, and she'd found out he wasn't the good guy she'd always thought he was. She had eventually been thrown out of the LAPD for not following the rules and focusing entirely on otherworldly cases, and then she'd attempted to commit suicide – something she'd only barely survived, thanks to Angel's last-moment intervention.

Fortunately, that hadn't been the end; after her career as a cop was over, Kate had established an antiquities business, and started using her professional connections to learn more about the supernatural and the occult. Thus, once she had received the phone call and the name 'Cordelia Chase' had been mentioned, the ex-cop had known to come over to Angel's hotel as soon as she could.

{ _What the hell is going on?_ } Kate asked herself in confusion, as she walked up the main path to the front doors. { _What are Angel and his friends up to? I thought they'd have known better than to openly flout the law that way..._ }

Not bothering to knock, Kate simply let herself in. To her mind, if Angel had a problem with that, he ought to get himself a doorman or something. Immediately, she saw a rather strange sight: Angel's flunky, that black guy named Gunn, out cold and lying on the floor with a beige sofa pillow tucked under his head. Plus a horned, green-skinned demon likewise unconscious, also with a pillow under his head, not far away. There was a petite brunette kneeling by Gunn, while a male teen she didn't know was standing not far away from the demon.

"Who are you?" the kid demanded, glaring at her, and Kate could tell right away that his attitude was gonna mean trouble.

"Name's Kate Lockley," she replied, giving him a pointed look. "I'm looking for Angel; or rather, Cordelia Chase. And just out of interest, what's the story with Mr. Gunn being dead to the world like that?"

"Oh, wow! You, you know us?" the brunette got up, looking excited. Kate didn't understand why, especially when the woman started babbling in a Texan accent, "Oh, gosh, well, that, that's great! I mean, we could do with the help, as things are kind of a mess right now. Well, not necessarily a mess, exactly, but certainly kinda screwed up. Well, sort of, I guess. I mean, I suppose it is, depending on your point of view... "

"Whoa! Time out," Kate did the universal sign for that with her hands, trying to make her stop. "First off, who are you?"

"Oh! Right, introductions, I'm definitely kinda scatterbrained today. I'm Fred, Fred Burkle," the woman introduced herself. "Uh, it seems you already know Charles Gunn – he's apparently my boyfriend, even if I can't remember that right at the moment – and I take it you've met Krevlornsewath here as well? I initially thought he was an alien, see, but actually he's a demon from another dimension, one where we humans are chattel and slaves," Fred chattered nonstop. "I take it you know Connor here, too?"

Kate's eyes narrowed significantly, focusing on that last bit of information. "No. And Connor? As in the 'Connor' who attempted to kidnap Cordelia Chase last night, and ran away from the LAPD?"

"I did _**not**_ attempt to kidnap Cordy! We live together, she's just – lost her memory," Connor spat, looking annoyed.

"Yeah, I kinda figured it was something like that. Otherwise, Miss Chase wouldn't have told those two officers who tried to arrest you as much as she did," Kate nodded, as Connor scowled. "And I got bad news for you, kid – that loft you two were living in? Officer Castillo and Officer Hodges checked it out after their shift was over, and then they called in the discovery of your little bootleg apartment. What's worse is that Detective Baker called in forensics after he got there, and they found that hidden stash of ears and teeth. Lucky for you, I managed to quash the whole 'serial killer' theory Baker had developed by telling him that your 'trophies' – I assume that's what they were, anyway – weren't human. Seen enough humanoid demon body parts by now, to be able to tell the difference. Anyway, bottom line, you can't ever go back there again. Because not only has museum security been beefed up a lot, all of your stuff there is now in the police evidence locker. Plus, the LAPD now thinks you're a stalker and a thief and an attempted kidnapper – thanks to me telling them that no way would Cordelia Chase ever be your accomplice in crime."

"Oh, wow," Fred said, as Connor scowled even more viciously. She then added, "Uh, wait, are you a cop? I mean, you said 'them' instead of 'us', but there's something about you which just screams plain-clothes detective, even if it's probably just me watching too many TV shows back in San Antonio... "

{ _Does this woman ever actually pause to take a breath?_ } Kate asked herself, before saying, "No, Miss Burkle. I was a police detective, once, but I'm not with the LAPD. Well, not anymore. I'm just trying to do Angel a favor, as thanks for saving my life way back when. So, do any of you know where he is? Or that Wesley Wyndam-Pryce guy?"

"So, you know him as well," Connor replied, examining her carefully. "I don't get it. Why don't I know you? I thought I knew all of Angel's friends and contacts in this city – but no one's ever once mentioned your name. I mean, why is that? Did you and him have some sort of falling out, or something?"

"Something like that," Kate replied, not wanting to go into details. "So, do either of you want to tell me what's going on here?"

Connor shrugged and gave her a quick précis of the situation; or as much of it as he knew, anyway. Fred added in a few details here and there, clarifying a few things; especially with regards to what had happened when the group woke up and then everyone went their separate ways.

Kate's eyes were almost as wide as saucers as she said, "Are you _**seriously**_ telling me that Angel's wandering around L.A. right now, without any idea who he really is?"

"Yes," Connor replied, shrugging slightly. "And so is Cordelia. We've got to find her – "

"She's not the priority," Kate disagreed straightaway. "I mean, if I understand the situation correctly, then we've got a vampire with a soul who doesn't know he's any such thing. He could be killing innocent people right now, if Angelus has taken over somehow!"

"What do you know about Angelus?" Connor demanded, as Fred looked between him and the former cop in confusion.

"He's a particularly brutal and vicious bastard, according to all the reading I've done. I've got some books back at my antiquities shop which describe him in detail, which I could show you. As long as you've got a strong stomach, anyway," Kate told him.

"I grew up in Quor-toth. My stomach can withstand a lot," Connor said brusquely. Looking like he'd tentatively decided to accept her as a temporary ally of convenience, the male teen added, "All right, we'll do it your way – for now. Where do you suggest we start looking for Angel?"

"I'm not sure. He wouldn't head for his normal haunts, because he simply wouldn't remember them," Kate said musingly. She thought about it for a minute, and abruptly made a decision, pointing at the demon and Gunn. "We need to wake those two up, explain the situation, and then split up all over town. Look for Angel – _**and**_ Miss Chase," Kate said hastily, after seeing Connor open his mouth. "At some point she needs to make an official statement to the LAPD about her lack of involvement with you and your crimes, if nothing else. But like I said, that's not a priority right now. Come on, let's get this show on the road!"

With a shrug, Connor and Fred did just that.

* * *

 _A while later – somewhere in Los Angeles; morning:_

Wesley strode down the street, scowling as he had a flashback to sharing a bed with the brunette who'd been waiting for him in his apartment. He remembered the two of them grabbing and holding each other tightly, kissing fiercely, before the clothes went flying and they ended up shagging like a pair of maniacs...

It had been the best night of his life, bar none. Even though they'd gone at it so quickly he hadn't even thought about taking... err, precautions. Well, hopefully his bed partner had that aspect covered – the woman seemed like the type, after all.

Because after waking up this morning – the brunette had slapped him across the face, _**hard**_ , after he'd made the unforgiveable mistake of admitting he didn't actually know her name. Then she'd pulled on her clothes and stormed out of the apartment, refusing to pay any heed to his desperate apologies.

Chasing after her hadn't helped, as she'd roared off in her car – leaving him alone, angry and frustrated.

{ _What to do?_ } Wesley asked himself, starting to wander the streets aimlessly. { _I could always go back to the apartment and call my parents in England; assuming they're still alive, of course. Still, after what's happened – I get the impression it might be better to gather more information than I have right now, in order to be able to answer Father's questions..._ }

Making his mind up on what to do, Wesley changed direction slightly and set off for his new destination.

* * *

 _A few hours later – not far from the Magic Box, Maple Court, Sunnydale; early afternoon:_

Xander climbed out of his damaged Ford Taurus and after clicking the lock button on his key-chain fob, he started walking towards the Magic Box. Then his cell phone started ringing. { _Gonna have to replace that Imperial March ring tone,_ } he thought to himself idly, as he grabbed the phone and pressed a button. "Hello! You've reached the Bat Cave, Alfred speaking."

«Hello? Harris?» the voice of his boss, one of the Junior VPs at the Sunnydale branch of T&P Construction and Contracting, sounded annoyed and irritable. «Is that you?»

"Uh, yes, sir. Sorry about that, I-I thought you were someone else," Xander replied, feeling very embarrassed.

«Whatever. Where the hell are you?» the Junior Vice President in charge of Projects and Planning wanted to know, now sounding even more annoyed.

"Walking down Maple Court, uh, more or less heading towards Main Street – " Harris started to say.

«What? Why? No, never mind, I don't care.» the man's voice said quickly, cutting him off. «Just get your ass back to the office, right now! There's a million things to do, and I can't do it all by myself!»

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't – my ex-girlfriend needs my help, she showed up with a really weird case of amnesia last night, that's why I had to leave early today – "

«I don't give a crap about whatever lameass excuse you thought up, in order to tap some hot-ass 'ho. You can get laid on your own time!» the Junior VP said angrily, interrupting him again. «Now get back here on the double, or I'll see to it you get fired! Do you understand me?»

"Perfectly, sir. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to hang up and call Mr. Peterson's Executive Secretary at the L.A. Head Office. I'm pretty sure he and Mr. Turner will want to know why I'm going to be suing the company for wrongful dismissal," Xander said lightly, but with an undertone of steel in his tone.

«WHAT? Harris, you son of a bitch, what the _hell_ are you talking about?!»

"Well, sir, you said it yourself; either I come back to the office after I submitted all the appropriate paperwork for a half-day's paid leave, or I'm fired. And since I can't abandon a woman in need, especially not an old girlfriend who I still love, I figured I'm now unemployed. And the company's HR policies are pretty clear on how the appropriate people have to be notified, when former employees decide to take legal action against the firm," Xander said, hoping like hell he hadn't just made a huge mistake trying to bluff his way out of this. "I'd, uh, suggest you get on the phone to Legal and explain the situation to Thompson, sir. He's gonna have questions for you; quite a lot of them, I'm sure."

«Harris? Shut up. And, uh, forget about that whole 'fired' thing. On second thoughts, you've obviously got an emergency your hands.» his boss said roughly, but also with a barely audible note of fear in his voice. «Just do what you gotta do, and get here on time tomorrow morning, or else your ass is grass – and I'm a lawn mower! Understand me?»

"Yes, sir," Xander managed to say, before his boss disconnected with a savage-sounding _**click!**_

{ _OK, I'm definitely too young to have a heart attack, but I'm thinking a stroke might just be a possibility here,_ } he thought to himself, trying to get his racing heart to calm down. Xander then replayed the phone conversation in his mind, wondering if there was anything he could have said or done differently...

{ _Nah. Screw it._ } Cordelia was more important to him than any job, and it was actually surprising just how unsurprising that was. Still, Xander figured some sort of damage control was definitely in order, and so called his company's head office in L.A. "Hello, Mary?"

«Xander?» the voice of Mary Worthington sounded surprised, and pleased, to his ear. «Xander Harris, is that you?»

"Sure is. Been a while, hope I'm not calling at a bad time?"

«No, silly, of course not!» the woman's voice said happily. «I've missed you, believe it or not. So, what's up? Are you planning to come to L.A. soon, and ravish me during one of my lunch breaks?»

Xander laughed, he couldn't help it. "Down, girl. We both agreed it was just a one-time thing in Arizona, remember? Besides, I'm pretty sure my old girlfriend would cut off my balls and roast them if I hooked up with anyone right now."

«An old girlfriend?» Mary sounded surprised all over again. «Somehow, I get the feeling you're not talking about Anya.»

"Yeah, no, I'm not. But, um, that's not why I called. Mary, I'm in a bit of a situation here," Xander confessed painfully, finding a convenient wall to lean on and avoid all the pedestrian traffic around him. "And I think the best thing for me to do is a request a transfer to L.A. If not Head Office, then one of the satellite ones. As soon as possible."

«What? What's going on?» Mary's voice now sounded puzzled. «I mean, not that the company wouldn't benefit from having you here in the big city – hey, I've heard Mr. Peterson saying to Mr. Turner that someone competent is needed to take over the Glendale operation – but why now? And why the rushy-rush?»

Sighing, Xander told her just about everything. The weekend from hell, Cordelia's memory problem, and the unpleasant phone conversation with his boss just now. And when he was done, Mary didn't say anything for nearly ten seconds, digesting the implications and thinking rapidly.

«Xander? It sounds like this guy is actively harassing you. Do you want to file a complaint against him or something?» the brunette's voice eventually said over the air waves.

"Hells, no," Xander said rapidly, shaking his head – even though he knew Mary couldn't see him do it. "I mean, the situation isn't that bad. It's just – I figure things are only gonna get worse around here as time goes on, and the next time I might not be able to bluff my way out of it like I did today. And there's nothing much keeping me here in Sunnydale anymore, so I figure a transfer's probably the best solution."

«OK. I'll talk to the Big Boss about it.» Mary promised. «And, Xander? Is it really that bad for you in that town, nowadays?»

"No, not really, but – well, Anya and I are definitely over. I can't seem to connect with my friends – uh, non-work related friends – any longer. Plus, there's also the fact that Cordelia lives in Los Angeles." He shrugged. "Not saying I'm planning to start up anything with her again, but once she get her memory back, if Cordy wants to give our relationship another try – well, at least we'd be living in the same city... "

«OK, listen. I know there's got to be a lot of details behind this particular development, and while I'd love to hear them, right now Mr. Peterson wants to see me in his office.» she said, a hurried tone appearing in her voice. «Xander, you keep your head down and don't make waves until you hear back from me, all right?»

"Sure. Give Mr. Peterson and Mr. Turner my regards?"

«You know I will. G'bye!»

"So long, Mary." Xander smiled and snapped the phone shut. Then he sighed, "Hoo boy!"

He shoved himself away off the exterior of the building, and started walking towards the Magic Box again. He tried not to think about all the implications of the last five minutes, it was all far too mind-boggling to cope with right now. Better to focus on the immediate problem at hand – Cordelia.

Once Xander arrived at Slayer Central, he saw the CLOSED sign and frowned. { _What the hell? The shop's closed this early in the day?_ } He turned the knob of the magic shop's front door, and discovered that it wasn't locked. { _Oh, now I get it – Willow didn't want interruptions. Who knows, she might even have cured Cordy already!_ }

Feeling hopeful and excited, Harris entered the Magic Box – only to see a dazed-looking Willow sprawled out on the floor not far from her overturned chair, and an equally dazed-looking Cordelia sprawled out near the main display cabinet. { _Sweet mother of Zeus, what happened? They didn't have a massive hair-pulling cat fight or something, did they?_ }

"Xander? What are _**you**_ doing here?" Anya's angry, strident voice suddenly registered in his mind, but he was far too distracted and upset to deal diplomatically with her antics right now.

"I came to find Willow and Cordelia. What the hell happened here?" Xander demanded forcefully, kneeling down to examine his ex-girlfriend. "Cordy? Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?"

"No! I don't need some idiot doctor treating me like I'm some kinda invalid," she said irritably, slapping away her ex-boyfriend's hands. "Just – help me up, will you?" She grabbed hold of Xander's right hand, and hauled herself up off the floor with his assistance. Then she looked around at Willow, who was being helped up off the floor by Anya. "What just happened, Willow?"

"I have no idea," the witch confessed, shaking her head. Then Willow winced in pain. "Ow. So not the best possible choice of action, that."

"Will, you OK?" Xander asked, automatically wrapping an arm around Cordelia, holding her tightly and oblivious to the small, pleased smile that appeared on his ex's face – and the scowl that likewise appeared on Anya's features.

"More or less. Just... shook up a bit." Willow leaned on Anya for support as she added, "OK, maybe more than just a bit."

"Again, I'm asking. What the hell happened here?" Xander demanded to know.

"There was some kind of supernatural explosion while Willow was attempting to analyze your ex-girlfriend's aura, and they were both hurled across the room and ended up on opposite sides of my store. Happy now? Curiosity satisfied?" Anya asked him, with an acid and bitter note in her voice.

"Yeah, uh, what she said. And I don't get it – something like that shouldn't have happened," Willow confessed, as Anya helped her walk over to the overturned chair. Ahn quickly leaned Will against the counter and bent down to right his best friend's chair, so that she could sit down in it.

"And yet, it did. Hrmm. Color me surprised," Cordelia said cynically.

"Well, gee. If you can still snark, Cor, guess you can't be hurt _**too**_ bad," Xander commented, and easily avoided the female hand that tried to dope-slap him for the not-exactly-tactful remark. He caught Cordelia's hand in his and kissed it, before letting it go in the face of her astonishment. "Honestly, though, I'm really glad you're not seriously hurt. Just don't scare me like that again, OK?"

"No promises, Dweeb," Cordelia replied, her classic thousand watt Pepsodent commercial smile briefly illuminating her face.

"Ahem!" Anya cleared her throat, looking angry as Cordelia moved to sit down on the other chair. "Getting back on topic?"

Willow exhaled loudly, and told him what she saw just before the magical explosion took place. Namely, a really dark shadow around Cordelia's head, heart and throat chakra points. She then turned to face the former cheerleader and said, "I'm sorry, Cordy, but I – well, this is obviously a _**lot**_ more complicated than I thought it'd be. I'm gonna have to research some other angle in order to try to fix the problem, maybe get in touch with Giles and the Devon Coven and consult with them about this. So, in the meantime? You're just gonna have to try to cope with living like this, somehow."

"Uh, Cordelia? Do you, um... do you want me to take you back to L.A., and your friends there? Not sure if they'd be any use in helping you, but if they can manage to figure out a way to fix this... " Xander trailed off, after seeing the hurt and angry expression on Cordelia's face.

"Well, I certainly don't want to be any kind of _**burden**_ on you, Harris! Fine, if you want to get rid of me that badly – " she said, starting to rise up off the chair.

"Hey! You may be a lot of things – but you're NOT a burden of any kind, Cordelia Rose Chase," Xander interrupted forcefully, using her full name for emphasis. "And I'm not trying to get rid of you! I told you that you're welcome to stay with me for as long as you want, and I _**meant**_ it! All I was suggesting was that we explore every single possibility in getting your memories back, OK? That's all!"

"Oh. Right." Cordelia blinked, suddenly looking annoyed with herself for misunderstanding the situation. She then turned to Willow. "So, what do you think? You know those people, according to what Xander's told me, and I don't. Well, apart from Angel, but even there my info's nearly five years out of date. You think they can help?"

"I don't know," Willow shrugged. "I mean, to the best of my knowledge, the only one who can do magic is Wesley; and not wanting to brag 'n all, but pretty sure I'm _**way**_ ahead of him in both the theory and practice. And since no one's been answering the phone at Angel's hotel, I think it's a pretty safe bet to say they're all wandering around L.A. right now, thinking they're seventeen again. Just like you."

The redhead grimaced. "And, ouch. Going through something like that twice? We're gonna have to track those people down straightaway and help them out, once I come up with a cure for the amnesia!"

"OK, then I guess we'll leave ya to it, Will. Call me if you need anything from us, all right?" Xander asked, as Cordelia wrapped an arm around his waist possessively and they walked to the door. "We'll see you guys later... " he added, as the former couple left the magic store.

"Five bucks says they'll be having loud, sweaty, disgusting sex tonight," Anya said disdainfully, trying to cover up the hurt in her vulnerable heart.

"Anya!" Willow replied chidingly. "Don't be silly. Xander wouldn't do that! Not with Cordelia in her current condition, anyway."

"The fact that you're gay now is the only explanation I can think of for why you've apparently forgotten just how eager unfaithful and libidinous males can be for sex. Especially if the woman is actually willing to initiate interlocking those body parts," Anya said dismissively. "And fine. If not tonight, then tomorrow night – or the night after that. I certainly can't see that Cordelia person waiting any longer to claim Xander as hers!"

Frowning and getting up off the chair, Willow couldn't help wondering if Anya might actually be right about that.

TBC…

* * *

A/N: According to the Buffy and Angel wiki, Kate Lockley really did establish an antiquities business in Los Angeles after her LAPD days were over - odd but true! And 'Mary Worthington' is merely an OC we came up with, not the character from _Supernatural_ (just in case anyone was wondering, one of our beta readers pointed it out). Other than that, we just wanna say thanks for reading and reviewing the story, your feedback is like a warm fire on a cold dark winter's night. So please, keep it coming!


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

 _Monday, November 11, 2002 – outside the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; not long after sunset:_

Kate Lockley was starting to feel like she was trapped in some sort of bad dream, as she, Fred, Gunn, Connor and Krevlorneswath headed for the hotel – after spending the day unsuccessfully searching for Angel and Cordelia. { _Good thing I hired an assistant to work at my store recently – or else I'd be in big trouble, financially speaking!_ }

She glanced around at the others, and marveled yet again how anyone could mistake Krevlorneswath for human – even with the sunglasses and hat which the green-skinned demon was currently wearing as a disguise. Oh well, that was L.A. for you; there was a lot of weird crap in this city, and the former cop suspected a lot of people simply rationalized what they could, and ignored -slash- forgot what they couldn't. They more or less had to, in order to maintain their sanity. Kate figured she used to do the exact same thing, before her mind was awakened to reality...

"So, now what?" Gunn said with a definite grumble in his tone. Kate couldn't blame him too much for it; she felt like grumbling herself, what with the huge, honking lack of success in their quest so far.

"I dunno," Fred replied, shrugging. "I _**am**_ kinda hungry, though. And I could do with some weed... "

"Could you please not say that while I'm around? I'm not a cop anymore, but old habits do die hard," Kate told her sternly.

Fred shrugged, looking abashed. "OK."

"I'm worried about Cordelia," Connor said, glancing at Kate. "And before you say anything, yes, I know that Angel's the priority. But I still worry about her."

"Wasn't gonna read you the riot act for it," Kate said lightly, as everyone reached the front doors of the Hyperion. "Just need you to keep focused, that's all."

"Just so you all know, I still find it very hard to believe how all this isn't some kind of nightmare. One which I can't wake up from," the demon complained, the last one to enter the hotel lobby.

"I know the feeling," Kate shrugged again. Her cell phone chirped and she moved off to the side to answer it. "Hello? Charlie. What's up? No, I'm still busy with that personal emergency I told you about; I need you to cover for me as best you can, until further notice. Yeah, don't leave today's money in the till; empty the cash register, and put all of today's receipts away safely... "

"This is friggin' insane," Gunn shook his head, and looked over towards Fred. Then he stiffened, as he heard someone coming down the stairs not far away. He whirled around and lifting his ax, said, "Who the hell-?"

"OH! It's you, that Wesley guy!" Fred exclaimed, as the Englishman came within hailing distance. "What are you doing back here?"

"I'm not entirely sure, Miss Burkle," Wes said stiffly, as he entered the lobby proper. "I suppose it's because this seemed like the most logical place to start looking for the answers to my questions, because I still can't remember anything beyond my seventeenth birthday. Anyway, I take it you all just got here?"

"Yeah," Gunn scowled at him, not exactly happy that the arrogant foreigner had shown up again.

"Hello, Wesley," Connor said, taking in the British man's appearance.

"Do I know you?" Wyndam-Pryce replied, examining Connor carefully.

"Yeah. You just don't remember it," the kid shrugged slightly. "Name's Connor."

Wesley nodded and focused on Krevlorneswath. His eyebrows rose and he said, "You're a demon. Possibly of the Karathmama-nyung family? They have horns like yourself, and feed on roots, and occasionally human effluent... "

"What? No!" the demon immediately looked disgusted. "The name is Krevlorneswath of the Deathwok clan, cow. And I – _**we**_ don't eat that!"

"Ah. My mistake, then," Wesley inclined his head slightly. "And, cow?"

"That's what he thinks human beings are," Fred rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Hello, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce. Still winning friends and influencing people, I see," Kate said, finally rejoining the conversation after hanging up on her employee.

"You appear to have me at a disadvantage, madam," Wesley turned his attention to her. "Who are you?"

"The name's Kate Lockley, formerly of the LAPD," Kate told him. "And before you ask, we've known each other for roughly three years."

"I see. Still, the more important question is, what are you all doing here in the company of such a creature?" Wesley demanded, gesturing at Krevlorneswath. "If I'm right, this thing's more or less harmless; but still, it's _**odd**_ for any human to be in the company of a demon. Not to mention be unafraid of it," he added dispassionately, assessing the scene before him.

"Can't argue with that," Gunn muttered to himself, looking annoyed.

Kate sighed and briefly filled Wesley in on what was going on, and how they'd all banded together to find the missing members of the group; namely, Angel and Cordelia. After expressing his surprise on the whole 'vampire with a soul' thing, Wyndam-Pryce shrugged and asked if anyone had checked out the local demon bars for the missing vampire in question.

"I have. No one's seen Angel recently," Connor said succinctly, not looking particularly upset about that.

"What about the hospitals and morgues, for Miss Chase?"

"Ditto. There's no telling where she might have disappeared off to, I'm afraid," Kate sighed, not knowing that Officer Castillo and Officer Hodges had given Cordelia a lift to the local train station in order for her to journey off to Sunnydale – since they hadn't volunteered that information to her. Plus, the former detective knew there were at least ten thousand square kilometers of the city's metropolitan area to cover, so –

"Well, I dunno 'bout the rest of you, but I'm gonna get something to eat," Fred said, looking around for some food.

"Yeah, guess I'm kinda hungry myself. Wanna check out the kitchen?" Gunn asked his ostensible girlfriend.

"Sure. If I knew where it was," Fred abruptly frowned.

Connor exhaled in annoyance. "Come on, I'll show you."

"Cool!" Fred exclaimed happily.

As the trio departed, Kate noticed that Krevlorneswath had made himself at home on the couch, and Wesley appeared to have become fascinated by some books which were on... huh, what must have been the main check-in counter of the hotel, at some point.

{ _Damn it, I hope this mess gets fixed soon. Last thing I want is to have to act like some sort of den mother around here..._ }

* * *

 _A few hours earlier – not far from the Magic Box, Maple Court, Sunnydale; late afternoon:_

Xander walked Cordelia to his car, unlocked it, and bade her enter. He was about to suggest they go home, when she mentioned that they still hadn't finished shopping for all her essentials. So, somewhat reluctantly, he took her back to the Sunnydale Mall – on the understanding that they'd quickly get whatever she needed, and then depart.

Even as he said that, though, Xander figured that any effort to make his former girlfriend hurry up where the shopping was concerned was doomed to failure, before it even began. He hadn't forgotten what Cordelia was like as a teenager, whenever she got into shopping mode; she could make a fifteen minute 'pick up and go' stretch out into three freaking hours, or even longer, and drive any guy's blood pressure through the roof.

Of course, back in the old days – his girlfriend had always had her own special way of making it up to him, afterwards...

A few hours later Xander groaned as he got out of the car, after they _**finally**_ arrived back at his apartment building – following a very long afternoon's shopping extravaganza. As he and Cordelia headed for his apartment, his arms were full of her shopping bags; containing various tops, skirts, pants, shoes, and a variety of unmentionables. Plus expensive, name-brand tampons and pads...

"I honestly can't believe all the damage you've managed to inflict on my wallet today," he complained, as they came to a stop in front of the apartment door.

"Oh, please, I didn't buy that much! Besides – it's like karma finally catching up with you. I mean, when we were dating? You should have been the one showering _**me**_ with expensive gifts, instead of the other way around," she replied, with a dose of pure Cordelia logic.

"Newsflash, Cor, but those so-called 'gifts' of yours? Expensive clothes which I neither asked for, nor wanted? Not exactly helping your case, here," Xander grumbled, reaching into his pants pocket for his house keys but failing to grab them due to all the bags he was holding.

"Oh, jeez, are we back to that old lamer argument?" Cordelia instantly looked annoyed, and unexpectedly yanked Xander's hand away before digging into his pocket to grab his keys. "I mean, seriously, I thought you'd finally gotten over that... "

"HEY!" Xander almost jumped into the air, at the unexpected intrusion into his personal space. "What are you doing?!"

Cordelia held up the keys triumphantly. "Making sure we don't stay stuck out here in the corridor all night." She quickly unlocked the door and opened it wide. " _ **Men**_ _._ I mean, if you thought I was gonna wait an hour or so for you to finally get your ass in gear... "

Xander abruptly dropped all her bags onto the floor, the moment he stepped inside his apartment.

"HEY! What are you doing?!" Cordelia instinctively snapped at him.

"We need to establish a few rules between us, Cordelia. And the first one is, I'm not your personal slave – so you don't get to treat me like one," he told her firmly, gesturing to all the bags on the floor. "Number two, no more naughty touching like that. All right? I need you to respect my boundaries – not just for my sake, but yours as well."

"What do you mean?" Cordelia asked, looking somewhat shocked by the unexpected, authoritative attitude he was now exhibiting.

"Cordy, how many times do I have to say it? We're not together anymore. And while I wouldn't necessarily object to that situation changing at some point in the future – it's _**not**_ gonna happen now. Not like this; not while you don't remember who you really are. I'm sorry, Cor, but that's just the way it is." He reached down into one of the bags, and pulled out the fresh bedding for Spike's old room. "You want some coffee, before I strip the spare bed and turn over the mattress?"

"Coffee? COFFEE? I don't believe you, you, you – complete and utter _**moron!**_ " Cordelia suddenly screamed at him, as he took a step back in surprise. "I mean, yeah, we're not together any longer – but ever since I came back to this one-Starbucks town, whose fault is _**that?**_ And sure, technically I'm not seventeen anymore, but is it my fault how I can't remember that? And is it my bad that I can't help acting the way I do? For God's sake, I don't know who this twenty-two year old Cordelia Chase you're constantly talking about is supposed to be! I don't know how to live poor, like she does! I don't know how to cope with my father rotting in jail, and with Mother dumping me like _**garbage**_ , like she did! I don't know how to – "

"OK, I get it!" Xander cut her off, trying to be patient but not succeeding very well. "It's not easy for you, I know that. But it's not exactly easy for _**me**_ either, all right? You being here like this, I mean – knowing that it's just temporary, and that you're gonna leave and go back to L.A. in a few days at the most – "

"And what if I don't?" Cordelia interrupted him.

"Huh?"

"What are you, deficient? You heard me, Harris! What if I don't go back there? What if I decided to stay in Sunnydale? Build a life together with you," she said, slowly and clearly. "Would that be so terrible?"

Xander looked at her sadly. "Look, Cordy, while that sounds real nice in theory – I honestly don't think it'd work in practice. Especially since I called Mary earlier this afternoon, and asked her to speak to my bosses about me transferring to L.A."

Cordelia was briefly dumbstruck. "Huh?"

Xander briefly explained about the phone calls earlier that day, and the decision he'd made on the spur of the moment. "Gonna have to wait and see what the owners of the company will say, of course, but hopefully they'll be on board with it. I've got a pretty good work record, after all."

"Xander, I... " Cordy trailed off uncertainly, before managing to speak up again. "Look, I-I didn't want to get you in trouble with your boss at work – "

"Nah. You didn't," he reassured her hastily. "This has been building for a while, to be honest with you; and earlier today I figured, better to get out on my terms rather than his."

"Get out of Sunnydale?" Cordy echoed softly. "You? Xander Harris – the guy who was always more obsessed with protecting Buffy and Willow, rather than go out on a date with me? You're actually going to abandon them, just like that?"

Instantly, Xander was reminded of yesterday's prison visit with Faith. So he told Cordelia, "Like I said last night, sweetheart – lot of changes around here since high school. And myself, I don't think of it as abandonment; at least not where Will and the Buffster are concerned. Fact is we've been drifting apart over the years, living our own lives too much for that particular label to apply anymore. Dawnie's case, though... well, maybe the word applies there, I dunno."

"Maybe. Not that I remember her, but from what you and Willow have told me, you're like the stable male -slash- big brother figure in her life," Cordelia frowned. "So, I betcha she's not gonna take that news well... "

* * *

 _Earlier that day –_ _Turner and Peterson Construction, Head Office, Los Angeles; afternoon:_

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Mary asked, as she entered her boss's office.

"Yeah." John Peterson glanced up at her as she slid into the chair opposite his desk, and his grey eyes immediately warmed up and crinkled at the corners. "I need you to take a letter. Bear with me a moment, while I organize my thoughts... "

He then spoke for the next five minutes or so, composing a letter to the CEO of the firm which Aura White worked for. Mary expertly took shorthand notes on how both he and Mr. Turner hoped that the new collaboration between their respective companies would be the start of a long and fruitful partnership, and what directions T&P Construction would like the partnership to proceed, assuming the pilot project Miss White was going to be managing in South America and Borneo over the next month or so was successful. He eventually finished up and said to Mary, "Type it all up on your PC, append my signature, and then email the final draft to me so that I can make any last-minute changes before you send it off, OK?"

"Yes, sir," Mary said, before hesitating slightly. "Uh, Mr. Peterson, would you have a few minutes for us to discuss something else, later on? I, um, got a phone call from Sunnydale, just before you buzzed me. And there's something I'd like to discuss with you, as a result of that conversation."

"Huh." Mr. Peterson stared at her silently, and Mary did her best not to squirm under that curious gaze. "Sounds serious. You're not planning on quitting on me, are you?"

"What? Oh, no, sir!" Mary denied it vehemently. "I like it here, and I'm happy working for you. This is about... something else."

"Ah. All right, then. Come back in about a half-hour or so," Mr. Peterson said dismissively, yet with a look of veiled interest in his eyes. "We can talk about it after that letter's done."

Mary nodded, and quickly exited the office. Sitting down at her desk, the Executive Secretary began transcribing her notes and composing Peterson's letter in the appropriate language. After finishing up her assigned task and sending off the email to her boss, Mary took a deep breath and headed off for the bathroom in order to freshen up a little.

Unfortunately for her, once she settled into the middle stall in order to relieve the pressure on her bladder, she heard a noise and looked up – only for a blast of amber light to hit her, directly between the eyes.

"The things I have to do for the cause," Amy said in annoyance, as she climbed down off the porcelain toilet bowl in the opposite stall. She put the ceramic bottle back in her pocket, and briefly shook her head. "Sheesh... "

A few seconds later Mary blinked, uncertain about what just happened. She had the oddest feeling that she'd forgotten something, but she couldn't figure out what it was. Confused, she exited the stall, washed her hands, went back to her desk and resumed work, until Mr. Peterson buzzed her again. The Executive Secretary entered his office and said, "Yes, sir?"

"You wanted to discuss something with me, Mary. Something about Sunnydale?" he asked, somewhat impatiently.

"Sunnydale, sir? I... yes, I got a phone call from there earlier today, but I... I can't remember what it was about now," she said nervously, her face betraying her uncertainty.

"What do you mean? Is there a problem with the Sunnydale office's operations?"

"I don't think so, sir. Oh, wait, I remember there was something about a delay on one of the projects there – something to do with an incorrect shipment of screws, which can't be used on the building's girders. And there were some issues with Sunnydale High School, the sports arena, and the new site for the Montecito Convention Center. But the Junior VP in charge reported that Xander's handling all that, so I figure the problems will be solved soon enough," Mary replied.

Mr. Peterson raised an eyebrow at her casual use of her former lover's name. "Xander Harris, huh? So, you two are on a first name basis, nowadays?"

She blushed, her cheeks turning a deep puce color. "We, ah, got fairly well acquainted during that Management and Planning Skills seminar in Phoenix, sir."

"How well acquainted? No, wait, don't answer. From that look on your face, I figure it's fairly obvious," Mr. Peterson said in amusement, after seeing the blush on Mary's cheeks intensify. He sighed, "I tell you, it's a damn shame how that boy doesn't want to leave his home town. I'd love to put him in charge of the Glendale office, or somewhere even more suitable! Oh, that reminds me, do you have any ideas on who we should install there? Mr. Turner and I do need to make a decision on that fairly soon, after all."

Mary hesitated, again having the funniest feeling that she'd forgotten something. Then she said, "I'm not sure, sir... but, uh, I guess you could ask Xander's immediate boss in Sunnydale if he's interested? The man has to have an eye for talent, if nothing else, promoting Xander into his current position."

"Hrmm. Good point. OK, call him, I want to talk to the man straightaway. If he's a suitable candidate, we'll have him promoted and transferred here to L.A.; and Harris can take over his job, at least on a temporary basis," Mr. Peterson decided. "I want to see just how well the kid can do, before making the position permanent."

"Yes, sir," Mary said dutifully, before departing the office.

In a corner of the office Whistler chuckled amusedly, even though Mr. Peterson appeared to hear nothing, before the Messenger did his usual vanishing trick after walking into the shadows.

* * *

 _A while later – Xander's apartment building, Sunnydale; late afternoon:_

Dawn was _**not**_ in a good mood, as she headed for Xander's home. Not only from the fight with her big sister this morning, but because high school today had pretty much sucked the big one! So after getting a lift from Mrs. Penshaw – the mother of her best friend, Janice – she'd headed for Xander's apartment to de-stress, book bag and all.

Well, OK, she also wanted to know exactly what had happened between Xander and Buffy the previous evening, and why her former crush had thrown Spike out on his rear end – not to mention who this 'cheerleader' was, who had been mentioned in passing earlier that day.

"Xander!" Dawn called out, knocking on the front door. "Open up, it's me – Dawn!"

Almost immediately, the door opened and Xander looked at her in confusion. "Dawnie? What are you doing here at this time of day? Is everything all right? Did you – "

"Hey, chillax!" she interrupted, rolling her eyes. "Like, everything's fine. I just wanted to come over and talk to you, now that school's out for the day. And meet your new, uh, roommate?"

"Ohhh... I dunno if that's such a hot idea, Dawn Giovanni," Xander immediately shook his head.

"Why not? Spike said she was a cheerleader of some sort," Dawn frowned.

"Yeah, she... was. It's, um, it's Cordelia," Xander confessed.

"Cordelia? As in your ex-girlfriend, Cordelia Chase?!"

"Yup. One and only Queen C herself. But see, she's got this weird sort of amnesia – "

"What?!" Dawn immediately barged into the apartment, and saw the brunette in question standing not far from the couch. Older, sure, but still recognizable. "Cordelia?"

"What are you?" the Chase woman said at once, looking confused.

"Uh, Cordy, this is Dawn, Buffy's little sister. Remember how I mentioned her to you?" Xander cut in nervously.

"Yeah, I get that, Dumbass. I'm not stupid, even if I can't remember anything beyond the end of junior year! But I didn't ask who she was – I asked _**what**_ she was! I mean, that's a really pretty green color, but still... "

Instantly, Dawn made the connection. The whole Key thing; that was what Cordelia was seeing right now, instead of... her. { _Oh, God, no, no, not again; I can't deal with this again!_ }

This was her worst nightmare, after all; proof that she really _**hadn't**_ existed as a human before the August of Y2K.

"Cordelia? What are ya talking about?" Xander asked, even as Dawn instinctively moved into his arms and away from – her.

"What, can't see you it? She's not human, at least not entirely – that green glow that's surrounding her; it's kinda like an aura, but not quite," Cordelia replied, pointing directly at her.

"Oh, man. The Key stuff again?" Xander exclaimed in shock, finally getting a clue. "Look, Cordy, no matter what you can see – this is Dawn Summers, OK? She's Buffy's sister, and Joyce's daughter. And I, I trust her completely!"

"Fine – as long as you wanna vouch for her, that's good enough for me," the brunette shrugged. "It isn't _**her**_ fault she's what those monks you mentioned fashioned her into, after all."

"So, you can actually see me? I mean, what I used to be, and not the face and body I see every time I look in the mirror?" Dawn semi-whispered. "I don't – how? You're obviously not crazy, or some kinda demonic snake... "

"Well, it's just a guess, of course – but it could be that whole dark stain in my aura thing which I've apparently been infused with," Cordelia shrugged slightly.

"WHAT?!" Dawn exclaimed in disbelief.

The woman exhaled. "Damn it, _**I**_ don't know! All I know is what Willow told me at that Magic Box place earlier today." Cordelia glanced at Xander and said, "You wanna make with the explanations, Dork?"

"Better that she gets it direct from the source, I'm thinking. C'mon, Dawn star, I better take ya home in my car," Xander shook his head. "Unless Buffy or Will are waiting for you downstairs in your Jeep?"

"No, I-I got a lift here with Janice's mom straight after school," Dawn said thickly, before grabbing her book bag and quickly walking out the door. She ignored Xander's calls to wait for him, wanting to get out of that apartment as soon as possible.

She also wanted to repress about the conversation they'd just had with all her might, but Dawn knew just how low the odds were of _**that**_ happening.

* * *

 _A few hours later – 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale; evening:_

Willow sighed as she shut the kitchen door, in order to avoid hearing Buffy and Dawn's loud voices. They were having an argument over why Dawnie had gone over to Xander's apartment today. { _By the Goddess,_ } she thought to herself wearily, { _those two definitely need relationship counseling or something..._ }

She picked up the kitchen phone, examining her phone card and then entering the codes, and then the digits for the appropriate number in England. Somewhere, across the continent and on the other side of an ocean, connections clicked into place and the other phone started ringing.

After a time – way too long a time, she'd been on the verge of hanging up – someone picked up on the other end. «Hello?»

"Giles?"

«Yes. Willow, is that you?» the British-accented voice asked.

"Yeah, it's me. Hey," Willow said fondly into the mouthpiece. "I was hoping to talk to you – "

«Ah, now's possibly not the best time for i-idle chatter, I'm afraid.»

"What's up?"

«Well, the Council is in a bit of an uproar at the moment, and I-I-I'm afraid it'll delay my leaving for Sunnydale, for... another week, possibly longer.» Rupert's voice replied.

"What? How come?" Willow asked, feeling astonished.

«In a nutshell, dear girl: the Council consists of a bunch of maundering old fossils, wh-who seem to be more interested in debate and playing politics than actually solving a problem.» Giles's voice was so dry it could almost be used to suck moisture out of her pores. «Plus, they seem convinced that only I can possibly understand and interpret what is transpiring in the colonies, as I am woefully... Americanized.»

"You? Giles! I thought they finally learned their lesson about that, with that stupid review Buffy was forced to undertake two years ago!" Willow shook her head in disbelief. Then she straightened up. "Anyway, that's not why I called."

«It's not?»

"No. Um, two things; one concerns Cordelia, and the other relates to Faith," Willow said firmly.

«I'm sorry. Willow, did, did you just say Cordelia and _Faith_?» Giles's voice now sounded completely flabbergasted.

"Yeah, uh, Xander went to visit her in prison yesterday, drove all the way over to Stockton to do it. I had lunch with him and Cordy today, and, uh... well, Xander says that Faith's not the same kill-crazy Slayer she was three years ago. Not anymore, she's been... rehabilitated. So, so, I-I think it'd help if the Council got her out of there, what with the way all the Potential Slayers are being targeted right now," Willow said, hesitantly.

«Willow. Do you understand – do you have any _idea_ – what it is you're asking me to do?» Giles's voice had now lost all trace of friendliness. «You're actually requesting my assistance to arrange the release of a, a self-confessed murderer?»

"Well, gee. You did it for _**me**_ , after I murdered Warren and Rack," Willow replied coldly. "What's the matter, Giles? You're suddenly picky about which female killer you want to help? Or is it that you don't trust Xander's opinion of the situation, you think Faith's pulling the wool over his eyes or something?"

«No, of course not!» the Englishman now sounded more contrite. «Um, wh-what exactly did the boy say, when you spoke with him?»

"Xander said that he told Faith what was going on with the First, and he warned her about the threat that might be coming from that direction. Then he asked her if there was anything different he could have done back then to prevent her from going over to the Mayor's side, and she said no. Oh, and Xander asked her whether she wanted to bust out of there and come back to Sunnydale to help us deal with everything that's going on around here, and again she said no. Well, yes, she wanted to help, but no she wasn't breaking out of prison in order to do it. Because Faith said she wanted to make amends for killing those two people by staying there in that jail, even though Xander told me how that place couldn't possibly hold her, if she decided she wanted out," Willow babbled, before finally realizing what she was doing and shutting herself up.

«Hrmm.»

"What, Giles?"

«Well, there _is_ a way to get Faith out of that prison facility, without her going over the wall and becoming a, uh, wanted felon.» Rupert's voice said hesitantly. «Unfortunately, it's not one to be undertaken lightly, at least not under normal circumstances.»

"What do you mean?" Willow asked in confusion.

«A Presidential pardon.» Giles said, which made Willow suck in a deep breath. «According to a, um, classified treaty between the British Crown and the United States federal government, th-there exists an... arrangement, if you will, that if a Slayer is convicted and sent to prison by the courts in the performance of her duties, a secret, off-the-books request to the White House by Her Majesty's representative to the Council, will, err, will secure that Slayer's release. No questions asked.»

"Wow. The Council actually has that kind of pull?" Willow asked in amazement, and more than a little disbelief.

«Of course. Perhaps if you think back to when Quentin and his review panel arrived in Sunnydale, supposedly to help us deal with Glory, y-you'll recall how he mentioned that I could be deported the very next day, with just the stroke of a pen?» Giles's voice was now back to its previous dry quality. «At any rate, that is the only option if we wish to have Faith freed without, um, consequences. The Council doesn't believe in doing business with low-level government, after all.»

"So, you'll do it? Contact this representative guy?"

«Err... »

"GILES!"

«Oh, very well. If you think it best.» Giles audibly sighed. «Now, you mentioned something else about, uh, Cordelia?»

"Oh! Yeah. She's back in Sunnydale, with a weird sort of amnesia of some kind," Willow replied, sounding a lot more cheerful now that the first part of her request for help has been approved.

«I'm sorry. But I'm afraid I'm starting to feel as if I'm in one of those dreadful American sitcoms of yours, o-or something of that sort. Did, did you just say-?»

"Yeah, Giles, I did. And you better sit down, if you're not doing so already – this is probably gonna take a while to explain properly," Willow said, ignoring the latest argument between Dawn and Buffy not far away.

TBC…

* * *

A/N: So what do you think? Should Giles help get Faith out of prison? Should Xander engage in a three way relationship with Cordelia, Faith and Anya? Would he even survive it, if someone brought up the possibility of such a thing? Will Amy demand better wages and conditions, or threaten to form a magical workers' union of some sort if Whistler tries to stall her on that? Should the Summers sisters go see a shrink? Should Kate simply give up and just go back to her wonderful, everyday normal life?

But seriously, we hope you enjoyed the chapter, and we thank you for reading and telling us what you think! And Guest, thank you for your anonymous review...


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

 _Monday, November 11, 2002 – outside the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; not long after sunset:_

Wesley strolled around the front garden of the hotel, alone, and looking lost in thought.

Ever since he had woken up in this place roughly twenty-four hours ago, his entire world had been thoroughly shaken to its very foundations. Wesley knew that his life hadn't turned out at all like he'd thought it would; and so, he wanted answers. Such as, why was he no longer with the Council? Why was he living here in the colonies? And why would he have joined forces with _**Angelus**_ , of all creatures, even if that damned thing truly had been cursed with a human soul and was thus no longer an enemy?

He'd come to the conclusion that it wasn't a good idea to contact his parents in England about it, not after what he'd heard Miss Burkle say. And unfortunately, neither Ms. Lockley nor that Connor lad knew the answers to his inquiries. Indeed, Wesley privately suspected those two weren't particularly interested in helping him – or any of the other amnesiacs here at the hotel, who were just as lost and confused as he was; it was Angelus and that Cordelia Chase woman who were the foci of their attentions. And with his current mindset, it wasn't too hard for Wes to figure out exactly why Connor and Ms. Lockley were so focused on those particular individuals _._

One of his duties as Head Boy at the Watchers Academy was to keep an eye on all the students there – via the prefects and other intermediaries – and prevent them from shagging members of the opposite sex at every possible opportunity, after all.

Suddenly, he noticed a long black limousine come to a stop outside the front gate of the hotel. A few moments later, Wesley saw a beautiful woman with faintly caramel-colored skin and wearing a provocative and sexy dress get out of the vehicle, and walk towards him with almost preternatural grace and calm.

"Good evening. And who might you be?" Wesley asked politely, as soon as she came within hailing distance.

The woman smiled at him. "My name is Madam Anita," she said in a throaty, contralto voice. "And you are?"

"Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, madam, at your service," Wesley snapped to attention and inclined his head slightly. "Now, may I ask what you're doing here?"

"You may, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce," Madam Anita replied. "And the answer is that I've been asked to come here and assist with your little memory problem, seeing as how I'm in the trade – well, as a sideline, of course."

Wes frowned. "You've been asked to come here and help me? By whom? And what exactly did you mean by being in the, ah, 'trade'?"

"As to the first question, by the person waiting inside the limo," Madam Anita said, gesturing at the vehicle. "And as for the second one, I run a very exclusive brothel in Beverly Hills. The person contracting for my services knew that I could help with the current situation, since some of my customers have a fondness for... well, let's call it very creative role-playing, shall we? Burying themselves in the part so deeply with one of my girls, that at the time, they don't actually remember who they are... "

"Yes, well, that sort of thing sounds – fascinating," Wesley replied neutrally, glancing at the limo and wondering who exactly his unknown benefactor was. "Still, seeing as how I don't know you, I'm afraid I'm going to need a little more than that."

Madam Anita shrugged. "I've met your colleague named Angel, and I've spoken with your associate Cordelia Chase on the phone; last year, she made arrangements to buy a mystical prophylactic from me. Angel and his friend, the Groosalugg, came to my establishment and purchased the item in question. Will that do?" she asked.

"I'm not sure, seeing as how I have no memories of any of that, either." Wes frowned, especially about the 'Groosalugg' part, before making a decision. "You'd best come inside the hotel, please. Doubtless, the others will want to meet you if you're to restore their memories as well."

"Ah? Curious. My employer didn't mention anyone else, just you. How many people are you referring to?"

Wesley examined her carefully. "There's myself, Mr. Gunn, Miss Burkle and that demon calling itself Krevlorneswath of the Deathwok clan. And both Angelus – sorry, Angel – and Miss Chase, who don't happen to be here right now."

"Hrmm. It seems I'll have to re-negotiate my price, please wait here... " Madam Anita turned around, and almost glided back to the limousine.

Wesley watched her do so, torn between going inside to tell everyone the news and marching up to the limousine to determine who his mystery benefactor was. In the end, though, he decided to obey Madam Anita's polite request and stay exactly where he was. { _No use rocking the boat at this point,_ } he thought to himself, { _either the woman is who and what she says she is and she'll help me; or, she's an enemy who'll need to be dispatched as soon as possible. Possibly even both._ }

Madam Anita soon returned from the limousine. "Well, I have good news and bad news."

"Perhaps we should start with the good news?" Wesley asked guardedly.

"Very well. The good news is that the person who hired me for this job is willing to pay for your associates to also receive the elixir which will restore your memories," Madam Anita explained.

"And the bad news?"

Madam Anita shrugged slightly. "You will have to find and administer the cure to Angel and Ms. Chase yourself, as I don't have time to do that – I have a business to run, after all. And the elixir itself will only last for seventy-two hours, after which if you want more – it will cost you. Apparently, your patron is not willing to pay for the same service twice."

"I see," Wes replied, glancing at the limo once more. He then nodded and said, "Very well. But first, as I said, we should discuss this with the others. Come with me, please."

He led the way towards the hotel and entered the lobby with Madam Anita close behind. Wes then called out, "Could I kindly have everyone's attention?"

"What's goin' on?" Miss Burkle drawled in her distinctive accent, examining the woman in the golden dress. "And who's she?"

"I'll explain in a moment, Miss Burkle. Where's everyone else?" Wes asked, as he could see only the Texan woman and the demon in the lobby.

"I dunno," Miss Burkle shrugged. "Upstairs, I think."

"Could we please get this over with?" Madam Anita asked politely. "I need to return to my brothel, after all."

"Brothel?" Miss Burkle and Krevlorneswath echoed, giving him a strange look. The demon then said, "Look, cow – "

"DON'T call him that!" Miss Burkle interrupted fiercely, glaring at the green creature. "I told you before, we're not dumb cattle!"

"Uh, sorry. All right, look – human," the annoying demon almost stumbled over the word, "What's going on? Why have you brought someone from a brothel here? I mean, this is hardly the time for _**that**_ sort of entertainment, is it?"

"Ewww!" Miss Burkle groaned, as she quickly got the demon's meaning. "And if you were thinkin' I'd take part in that sort of thing? Forget it! I mean, if I didn't wanna work in the local house of ill repute back in San Antonio... "

"If I could possibly get a word in?" Wesley interrupted, looking irritated. "Miss Burkle, Krevlorneswath of the Deathwok clan, I'd like to introduce Madam Anita; someone who apparently knows Angel and Miss Chase. She says she's been contracted to help restore our memories, even if she hasn't mentioned who our mystery benefactor is... "

"Sorry. But client confidentiality is very important in my line of work," Madam Anita said to all three of them. "Shall we begin?"

Without waiting for an answer, she lifted one hand up into the air. Everyone heard a soft little tinkling sound, as her hand was enveloped in a deep blue light. As she brought her hand back down, Madam Anita was suddenly holding a small, metallic-looking bottle. Within it, a glowing blue liquid could be seen.

"All of you who need your memories restored, take a sip of this," she said simply. "Just don't take too long to do so, because as I said – the elixir's potency will last for exactly three days from now, and not a moment longer." Without another word, she gave the bottle to him, and then turned and glided out of the lobby.

"Wait!" the Texan woman called out, even if the brothel owner paid no attention to her and walked out the doors. Miss Burkle then turned to look at him. "Where'd you find that... person? And golly gee, did y'all see what she just did?! It was like magic... "

"There's no 'like' about it, Miss Burkle; that _**was**_ magic," Wes told her, while examining the bottle carefully. "Hrmm. And as for where I found her, I didn't; she found me. Us. She arrived with our mysterious sponsor, in a limousine outside on the street."

"Really? Wow. I wonder who?" Miss Burkle said, looking towards the front doors of the hotel.

"Well, you could always go outside and ask," Krevlorneswath suggested helpfully, before pointing at the bottle he was holding. "In the meantime, what do we do about that?"

"I suggest we gather everyone here – Ms. Lockley, Connor, Mr. Gunn – and then proceed on deciding what to do next," Wesley said thoughtfully.

"Oh, what's that going to accomplish? Here, give that to me," the demon reached out, snapping his fingers and gesturing for him to hand over the bottle. "Someone needs to try out that elixir, and I'm willing to do it."

"But, but what if that stuff kills you?" Miss Burkle protested on instinct, as Wes handed over the bottle.

"First, not a coward. And if it kills me, at least I'll end up in a better place than this," Krevlorneswath said philosophically. "Personally, I can't imagine Tarkna being any worse... "

Without another word, the creature pulled out the stopper and took a small gulp of the blue liquid. Immediately, Krevlorneswath's expression changed; his eyes widened, and he looked around in amazement. "Holy shades of Aretha Franklin, but this is just... "

"Did it work?" Miss Burkle demanded, intrigued.

"Oh, yeah, kitten – I remember everything now. Hoo boy, do I ever! And hey; sorry about all the 'cow' wisecracks lately," Krevlorneswath said apologetically, glancing from her to Wesley and then back again. "Teenager in Pylea, you see, I-I really didn't know any better – "

"OK, gimme," the Texan female interrupted, grabbing the bottle out of his hands. "I'm next."

"Are you sure about this, Miss Burkle?" Wes asked guardedly. He didn't care all that much about the demon, which was why he'd let it be the guinea pig for all this – but she was a fellow human being, and he felt like it was his duty to point out the possible danger.

"It worked for Krevlorneswath here, didn't it?" the woman gestured at the demon.

"Fred, sweetie – please, don't call me that. Here on Earth, the name's Lorne," the creature told her gently, before turning to face him. "And Wes, I think it'll be OK. I remember now how Madam Anita has a decent reputation, at least for a woman in her line of work; her brothel is a straight-up operation, no blackmail pictures or anything like that, and Cordy-kins has done business with her in the past," Krev- no, Lorne reassured them hastily. "She sent Groo and Angel there to buy – "

"A mystical prophylactic? Yes, so Madam Anita mentioned outside," Wes interrupted. He then turned to the brunette and said, "Very well, it would seem then that the odds are in your favor; so have at it, if you think you should."

Miss Burkle nodded, and took a sip of the blue fluid. Choking, she almost dropped the bottle, before Lorne grabbed it away from her. "Fred, honey, are you alright?" the demon asked in concern.

Eyes watering, Miss Burkle looked up in confusion. "Lorne?" Then she said with a horrified tone of voice, "Oh ye gods, I remember now... I remember _**everything**_... "

"Right there with you, honeybun," Lorne said sympathetically, before holding the elixir up to him. "Your turn, Tall Dark and Stubbly."

Wesley nodded, grabbed the bottle, and unhesitatingly downed a quick gulp of the elixir. Immediately, the memories cascaded through his mind...

Everything that had happened since he was seventeen years old. Everything. Literally. A torrent of intense images, memories and feelings rushed through his brain...

{ _Oh. Oh my,_ } Wes thought dazedly to himself, before forcing himself bury the bulk of the memories and to focus back on the present. The here and now. And the first thought to come to mind was –

"Good grief, but that tasted utterly disgusting!" He made a face, attempting not to vomit up the blue fluid. "What on earth were the ingredients, yak piss and liquefied camel dung?"

"Actually... no, wait. It worked, right? I mean, you remember who I am now? Who we are?" Lorne gestured to himself and Fred.

"Oh, yes. I remember. In exquisite detail," Wesley replied, with a new hardness in his tone and a look of disdain and contempt appearing on his face. He put the metal bottle into the anagogic demon's hand and said, "And quite frankly, Lorne, consider this the last time that I _**ever**_ do you a favor of this sort!"

"Huh?" Fred said, before realization hit her over the head with a clue-by-four. "Oh! You mean being part of that spell, to fix Cordelia's memory loss... "

"Hey, c'mon; sour grapes? Not very becoming of you, Wes, I have to say," Lorne said, adjusting his stance a little. The demon then looked surprised as he turned around and began heading for the front doors of the hotel. "Uh... "

"Wesley? Where are you going? We still need to find Angel and Cordelia, not to mention get Charles back to normal... " Fred trailed off, as he turned to look back at her.

"I'm sorry, Fred. Were you somehow under the impression that I'm _**obligated**_ to help you and Lorne sort this mess out?" Wes asked cynically, before opening one of the doors. "If so, I'm not. And in case you haven't noticed, I want as little to do with Gunn, Cordelia and that _**vampire**_ you work for, as they want to do with me. So I'd suggest you go find your boyfriend, and get him to help you. As it happens, I have other priorities." So saying, Wesley slammed the door shut on his way out.

* * *

 _A few moments later – the same place; not long after sunset:_

"I... I... I can't believe Wesley just did that!" Fred spluttered. She was just about to begin chasing after him, to give the British man a piece of her mind – when Lorne caught her wrist and shook his head.

"Let it go, puddin'. That Sugar Plum has, well... issues. And unfortunately, Wes is right; he's not part of the band anymore, and both the Angel-cake and your significant other _**do**_ get a mite prickly whenever he shows his face at the hotel, nowadays. C'mon, we'd best get upstairs and find the others... "

"You mean, you agree with him? With what Wesley just said?" Fred demanded indignantly.

"It's not about what _**I**_ think, honey-pie; it's about what Mr. Attitude out there thinks. And feels. Problem is that Wes can remember now how all of us treated him after the little nipper's kidnapping, way back when. How _**you**_ went into his hospital room that night, dumped all his stuff there and told him never to come back to Angel Investigations. Ya know, come to think of it, after everything that happened last year? It's a miracle how that boy is still talking to any of us, let alone having raised our undead hero up from the bottom of the ocean!"

Fred immediately felt her face go red. She honestly hadn't considered that; and feeling somewhat embarrassed, she just silently followed the Pylean demon up the stairs, putting her former friend out of her mind. If Wesley didn't want to help, fine.

Who needed him? She had a boyfriend to cure, plus a boss and a best friend to find, and she could do it without that guy's help.

Right?

* * *

 _A few seconds later – outside the Hyperon Hotel, Los Angeles; not long after sunset:_

Wesley felt infuriated as he strode away from the hotel. Infuriated with himself, with Lorne, with Cordelia, maybe even with the entire damned universe. He felt dirty as well; violated by that bloody lounge demon's misbegotten spell...

"Hello, Wes," he heard a familiar female voice say, as he reached the limousine and the rear side door opened. "Finally back to normal again, I take it? No, don't both answering. That look on your face says it all."

"Lilah," Wesley said, abruptly realizing who his 'benefactor' was and cursing himself for not figuring it out sooner. Gritting his teeth, he said two words that came very hard to his lips. "Thank you."

"What, for helping you after you slept with me under false pretenses? You're welcome," the female attorney grinned at him like a shark. "Now get in, and let's go back to your apartment. You owe me lots of orgasms, lover, on account of Madam Anita's services? Definitely not cheap."

Shrugging, Wesley decided to put their recent past – him fucking the beautiful brunette without knowing who she was, and her nails digging into his cheek before the upset Lilah had stormed out of the apartment – out of his mind.

All things considered, some angry sex with this woman sounded like something he'd definitely enjoy right now.

* * *

 _A while later – Xander's apartment, Sunnydale; evening:_

Cordelia sat on the living room couch, staring at nothing in particular as Xander talked on the phone to Giles. She paid little attention to the transatlantic conversation, lost in her own thoughts as she remembered all the screaming she'd done after they'd arrived home from the mall.

The problem was that, in one sense, Cordelia knew exactly who she was; and yet, in another sense, she didn't. Because however much she hated it – nearly five years had gone by, and her boyfriend wasn't really her boyfriend, not anymore. He had... changed. It had occurred to her that if she wanted to get the Doofus back, she was going to have to likewise change her tactics and behavior; it was kinda obvious that acting like the Cordelia Chase he'd known back in high school wasn't going to get the job done...

"OK, Giles, I gotcha. See you when you finally get here," she heard Xander say, and Cordy turned to face her ex as he pressed the End button on the phone and hung up. Harris noticed her looking at him and quickly joined her on the couch. "G-man says to say hello, by the way – and that he's sorry to hear about what's happened to you, Cor."

"Yeah, yeah. So, can he help?" she asked, getting straight to the heart of the matter.

"I dunno. Maybe. Apparently, they're having some kinda meltdown over there in the Land of the Tweed Men right now," Xander shrugged. "All the Potential Slayers in the world are currently under attack, and I get me the feeling that that's gotta be their priority. That, and Buffy's recent encounters with the First – plus getting Faith out of jail, since apparently Willow convinced him to do it earlier today. So, no idea when he'll eventually come back to Sunnydale; and until then, we're on our own."

"Great," Cordy said bitingly, briefly throwing her arms up in exasperation. She decided to ignore the whole Faith thing, even if the casual mention of Xander's former lover made her a bit uneasy, and said, "So, what do I do until then?"

"Well, uh, Willow will come up with something before too much longer, I'm pretty sure," Harris replied comfortingly. "So, try to think of all this as a... well, a vacation of sorts."

"A _**vacation?**_ " she looked at him incredulously.

"Yeah. A vacation from 'you.' I mean, whatever's happening in the life of Cordelia Chase right now in L.A.? _**You**_ don't have to worry about all that, at least not for the moment. Look, I know it's hard – but just relax and enjoy for tonight, Cor. Tomorrow's hassles will come soon enough, I'm thinking."

Cordelia looked at him, before letting her shoulders slump in defeat. "And the worst part is, you're probably right. Because that's pretty much the story of our lives, isn't it? Just – one disaster after the other. Like Parent-Teacher Night, me nearly becoming the freaking Bride of Daryl Epps, that episode at Buffy's house with the Tarakan Worm Guy, blowing up that Smurf demon with that rocket launcher at the mall, nearly getting eaten alive at the Bronze by Werewolf Oz that night – "

"Yeah – those were the good old days, weren't they? And I miss Oz, I really do," Xander interrupted with a cheerful, nostalgic look on his face. "Normal guy like me, except for three days of the month; but come a full moon, he had a wolf-y mojo that was definitely not to be messed with."

"Yeah. So whatever happened to him, anyway? I mean, I heard that he's not a vampire and he left town after turning Willow gay, but that sure as hell doesn't sound like the Oz I know," Cordy frowned. "You also mentioned something about how him and Willow broke up during their freshman year of college?"

Sighing, Xander briefly explained about the whole Veruca mess, and then what had happened months later when Oz had come back to the Hellmouth, looking to reconcile with Willow. He told her about Tara, the Initiative, and helping break the werewolf out of that military facility before he'd left town – and, presumably, the country as well. Harris finished up by saying, "Just gotta hope that wherever he is nowadays, Oz has managed to put the past behind him and found some happiness in life."

"Yeah," Cordelia agreed absently, before changing the subject. "So, what now? I mean, what now for me?"

"You stay here for as long as you like," Xander reiterated his previous promise to her. "And what the hell, let's live a little. What do you say to us going out to dinner? Or visiting to the Bronze?"

"Well... that doesn't sound like it'd suck, I suppose. But don't you have to work tomorrow? As well as figure out a way to deal with that asshole boss of yours?" Cordelia pointed out, even if her skin warmed at her former boyfriend's offer.

"Good point," Xander admitted, deflating slightly. "OK, how about we stay in tonight and watch a movie? Or even two movies, it's still kinda early in the evening."

She sighed. "What did you have in mind?"

Xander smiled, got up off the couch and went over to a nearby shelf. He rummaged around and then grabbed a couple of DVDs, which he brought back to her. "How about these?"

"Oh, jeez," Cordelia snorted, rolling her eyes. "Westerns? Dork Boy, it's obvious that deep down, you haven't changed at all!"

"Hey – as I recall, you liked _Big Jake_ and _Silverado_ way back when," Xander said, smirking. "Besides: _A Fistful Of Dollars_ , which is not just 'a' Western but _**the**_ Western, and _For A Few Dollars More_ , the sequel... "

"Jeez, again. So, what is it with your Clint Eastwood fixation?" Cordelia asked.

"I dunno. Maybe it has something to do with that International Dance thing, back in our junior year," Xander replied, briefly looking like he was shrugging off the bad memories of Ampata – the Inca Mummy Girl she'd heard about, not long after they'd officially gotten together. "Anyway, with your permission?"

"OK, fine. I suppose there _**are**_ worse ways to spend a Monday night. Even if none come to mind right now," Cordelia said, kinda grumpily.

Xander smiled and quickly put the DVD into the player, and then walked back to the couch. He subsequently hit 'Play' on the remote control, after setting the DVD casings back on the coffee table. He then leaned back on the couch and unconsciously put his arm around her. Cordelia smiled at once, and immediately snuggled in close to his side. Harris looked at her, and was about to say something – when he visibly changed his mind. He just relaxed, and held her tightly.

"I take it back. This is actually... nice," Cordelia said happily, as the opening credits started to roll.

"Sure is," Xander nodded, before adding, "You want some popcorn?"

"Maybe later," she replied. "Let's just watch the movie."

Nearly two hours later, Cordelia had to admit to herself that she'd enjoyed watching _A Fistful Of Dollars_ , and a lot more than she'd thought she would. "That was actually... not _**too**_ horrible," she said, getting up from the couch and stretching to get all the kinks out of her muscles.

"Uh, yulummana?" Xander blinked, his eyes briefly glued to the jiggle of her breasts. He then shook his head, recovering his wits. "I mean, you liked?"

"Yeah, it wasn't too bad," Cordelia replied with a smirk. { _Hrmm, definitely gonna have to do that more often!_ } "So, favorite movie of yours, huh?"

"One of 'em, anyway." Harris pointed to the _For A Few Dollars More_ DVD on the coffee table. "Other one, sitting right there."

"So, did you used to watch these movies with that Anya woman?" Cordelia asked a bit too casually.

"Nope," Xander shook his head at once. "She's not exactly a big fan of Westerns. Apparently, there were a lot of women wanting vengeance on their cheating husbands and boyfriends back then – and Ahn was actually there in the Old West, pretty often. Hell, the one time I made her watch _For A Few Dollars More_ with me? She couldn't help pointing out everything that was wrong with the movie, from her point of view. Kinda sucked all the fun out of watching it, I hafta tell you. Matter of fact, the only Western Ahn ever seemed to like was _Unforgiven_ , what with the whole vengeance thing built in and all."

"Oh. That's too bad, I guess."

"Yeah. Still, the aftermath of watching that particular movie – well, let's just say Anya definitely knew what I liked, and leave it at that," Xander smiled and fondly shook his head at the memory of that weekend of debauchery that had followed, before getting up and going over to the DVD player to withdraw the movie disc.

He never noticed the upset look on Cordelia's face, as she muttered something about going to pee in the bathroom, and quickly put the _A Fistful Of Dollars_ DVD back in its casing.

* * *

 _The same time – outside the Bronze, Sunnydale; evening:_

Spike wasn't feeling in the best of moods, as he walked past the bouncer into the club and quickly ordered some alcohol from the bartender. "Heineken lager, mate."

The blond-haired and kinda pimply-looking bartender – the same one who had served Cordelia her cappuccino last night, even though Spike didn't know that – just stared at him. "I.D."

"What the sodding – you honestly tryin' to card me, already? Don't I look over eighteen to you?" Spike glared at the man.

"Legal drinking age in California is twenty-one. And there's a new Bronze policy in place; you wanna be served booze, I need to see some I.D. No matter who it is," the barman said, stone-faced.

Spike just glared at him, unable to believe the nerve of this uppity ponce...

"Hey. I'd like a Bud, please?" a young man said as he slid into the bar stool opposite Spike, holding up his driver's license.

"Sure thing." The bartender turned around, reached onto the fridge and pulled a bottle of Budweiser out. "That'll be a buck fifty."

"Here ya go." The new arrival glanced at Spike, who was staring at him in disbelief. "There a problem here, friend?"

"Un-bloody-believable," Spike said, partly to himself and partly to the guy sitting next to him. "I can't even buy a decent ale in a bloody teen nightclub like this?!"

The dark-haired man shrugged, "If you say so."

"I mean time was, everyone was afraid of me, the name 'Spike' was feared throughout the bloody world; but now? The whelp was right, I've become a complete bleedin' joke," Spike cursed to himself.

The young man opposite him frowned. "Hey, come on, it can't be that bad... "

"Can't be that bad? Last night, I get kicked out of the apartment I was living in. Then the woman I love, she tells me I can't even stay in her basement, 'cause her little sister – she doesn't want me hangin' 'round no more," Spike said miserably. "Plus I got less than fifty bucks in me wallet, and everything I own in this world is in 'ere!" He briefly held up his duffel bag. "Can't be that bad, mate? It bloody well is, and then some!"

"Look, uh, Spike, is it? That's a, um, interesting story, so why don't you have a beer on me? Another Budweiser for my new friend in need here," the man gestured briefly to the bartender.

Shaking his head, the barman quickly handed over the beer and walked away to another part of the bar to serve another customer. Spike and his new acquaintance talked for a while, and neither of them seemed to notice when a dead ringer for Spike walked up to the bar, an angry look on its face.

"Lost my good right arm, I did. Shoulda known how, deep down, that Caleb bloke didn't 'ave what it took, right? Well, never mind, mate – I still got you," the ringer said, a big smirk suddenly appearing on his face.

"Ya know, I feel a song coming on," the Spike lookalike added glibly, as the two men left the bar and head over to the pool table. "Early one morning, just as the sun was rising, I heard the fair maid sing in the valley down below. Oh, don't deceive me. Oh never leave me." He sat on the stairs leading to the upper level. "How could you use a poor maid so?"

Spike – the real one – started humming the song as well. He then looked at his companion and said, "By the way, mate, what's yer name?"

"Holden Webster. But all my friends call me Webs," the young man replied with a shrug, as nearby, the Spike lookalike – the First Evil – started chuckling in amusement.

TBC…

* * *

A/N: Okay, we're more or less done with the events of _Spin The Bottle_ (some people have complained about how long all that was dragging on; sorry, but it was necessary!) and now, we're more or less headed towards _Conversations With Dead People._ In our opinion, that was one of the more enjoyable episodes of BTVS season 7, even if Amber and Eric couldn't come back to reprise their roles as Tara and Jesse! Anyway, thank-you as always to everyone out there reading and reviewing this story, we hope you come back for more soon!


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

 _Monday, November 11, 2002 – Wesley's apartment, Los Angeles; not long before midnight:_

Wesley glanced at the door as Lilah walked quickly out of his apartment, yelling at one of her minions on her cell phone. { _Probably that berk, Gavin Park._ } From the woman's tone, something must have gone wrong with one of Wolfram  & Hart's plans...

Oddly, Wesley found that he had no feelings about that, one way or the other. This worried him, slightly. Apathy wasn't something he could afford, at least not in his current line of work. { _That reminds me, I need to get in touch with Diana, Hawkins and Jones to find out what's been happening over the past twenty-four hours. But that can wait until morning, I suppose. I can afford to at least take the rest of the night off, especially after everything that's happened lately..._ }

Wesley got up, as naked as the day he was born, and walked into his bedroom to put on some fresh clothes. A reluctant smile came to his face; after he and Lilah had walked in through the front door, the randy little wench had started tearing his clothes off, too impatient to wait another moment longer. In fact, Lilah had been in such a hurry they'd never even made it to the bedroom. Amazing how sex could make an animal out of almost anyone, man or woman...

Still, now that Lilah had gone, the emptiness of his life hit Wesley all over again like a ton of bricks. He was suddenly reminded of one of his favorite childhood films, _The Wizard Of Oz_ , and one of the classic scenes of the movie with Dorothy, the Scarecrow and the Tin Man:

" _Well, you're perfect now."  
_ " _Perfect? Oh, bang on my chest if you think I'm perfect. Go ahead – bang on it!"  
_ " _Beautiful! What an echo!"  
_ " _It's empty. The tinsmith forgot to give me a heart."  
_ " _No heart?"  
_ " _No heart."_

{ _Is that what's happened to me?_ } Wesley asked himself, in a moment in self-honesty and candor. { _Have I become totally heartless, nowadays? It's amazing how remembering your childhood with such sudden clarity can give one such a sense of perspective. Still, it's hardly surprising after everything that happened last year. So I did the right thing, leaving the hotel when I did; it's none of my business anymore what happens to Angel, or any of the rest of them._ }

He suddenly got angry at himself. Wesley knew what true hopelessness was – he had seen enough of it in the past – and where there was life, there was still a quantum of hope. So what if he felt empty? To quote his father, you go on and do the job anyway.

He just hoped the day would eventually come when he wouldn't feel this way anymore.

{ _Still, that's hardly likely the longer Lilah and I keep... consorting like this,_ } Wesley thought to himself with another bout of painful self-honesty. { _It's been six months since I started sleeping with a woman who doesn't love me – who_ ** _can't_** _love me, most likely, given who and what she is. Maybe I should_ _–_ }

The phone abruptly exploded into life, and Wesley stared at it in some surprise. He had no idea who would be calling at this time of night. Then he abruptly recalled another one of his father's old sayings: whenever someone calls you between eleven o'clock at night and seven o'clock in the morning, it's either an old friend who's had far too many drinks that evening... or else, it's trouble...

"Hello?" Wesley said curiously, picking up the receiver.

«Wesley Wyndam-Pryce?» a British-accented voice replied.

"Yes. Who is this?" Wesley demanded.

«The name is Nigel Ahuja.» the man's voice said smoothly. «Perhaps you've heard of me?»

Wesley hesitated for a moment, but then abruptly recalled the name in question. "Yes, vaguely. Three or four years ago, you were Quentin Travers' right-hand man within the organization."

«Indeed, and I still am. Ah... it's nice to know that I'm so memorable, old chap.» Nigel's voice sounded rather amused. «And sorry to be ringing so late, your time, but I thought you'd want to know the latest developments concerning your former Slayer. Girl named Faith Lehane. I'm correct in assuming, am I not, that no one's seen fit to inform you of what's happened there?»

"You assume correctly," Wesley replied in a stiff, curt tone. "What's happened, then?"

«Earlier today, Her Majesty's representative from the Watcher's Council passed on a request to the Executive Office of the President of the United States federal government. The request was for the President to enact an Executive Order related to the International Slayer Protocol. I trust I don't have to explain the significance of this to you?»

"What, that Travers wants Faith released from prison in order to kill her, so that he can get his hands on her successor? No, I suppose you don't," Wesley said emotionlessly.

«Your conclusion is incorrect, actually; that's not an option that was ever considered.» Nigel's voice now contained a bit more steel, to Wesley's ear. «The Progressive bloc of the Council has been adamant on that subject since Miss Lehane's self-imposed incarceration, and with Mr. Travers' support and agreement. Especially after that... _debacle_ in Los Angeles, sponsored by the Traditionalist faction.»

"You mean, when that wet works team started shooting at Faith and Miss Summers in public? And failed to kill them? Yes, I suppose I can't argue with your description of that situation," Wesley smirked for a moment, abruptly wondering whether _**this**_ was why Lilah had started yelling into her phone a few moments ago. He hadn't forgotten how she and her colleagues had arranged to have the rogue Slayer put away for twenty-five to life for betraying Wolfram  & Hart, after hiring Faith to kill Angel.

"Still, assuming for the sake of argument that all this is on the level – why tell me?" Wesley then asked Ahuja, focusing back on the current conversation.

«Because even though according to Rupert Giles, the girl has been rehabilitated and is ready to resume her duties as a Slayer... she _did_ gleefully torture you, all those years ago.» Nigel's voice was now a bit softer. «Thus, I thought you should know what was happening with her, just in case you somehow run into that particular Chosen One again.»

"I appreciate the thought; however, it's most unlikely that'll happen. I have no intention of ever returning to Sunnydale, assuming that's where Faith will head for upon her release – and her relationship with Angel is no longer an issue, either. I no longer work with that vampire, after all," Wesley said into the mouthpiece.

«Oh? Curious. And interesting. May I ask why?»

"No, you may not," Wes said instantly, his tone making it clear that that was not a subject that was open to discussion.

«As you wish. Well, then, one last question before I go – are you perchance aware of how the entity known as the First Evil is currently trying to exterminate all the Potential Slayers in this world?»

Instantly, this got Wesley's complete and undivided attention. " _ **What**_ did you just say?"

* * *

 _Tuesday, November 12, 2002 – Northern California Women's Facility in Stockton, California; morning:_

"Open up for 430019!"

Faith had a brief moment of déjà vu, flashing back to hearing the guard's voice two days ago when Xander had shown up here to visit her. Then she shook her head, focusing back on the present as the cell doors slid open and the guard gestured for her to exit. "Edie. What's going on?"

"Get moving, Convict. Warden wants to see you, pronto."

Nodding, Faith walked out of her cell and began the long trek to the jail boss's office. She mostly ignored the shouts from her fellow inmates, who suspected she was going to be given a month in solitary for that 'incident' with Deb; which explained why they were either yelling encouragement or abuse at her. Rhodes was obviously not in the mood for talking, however; the guard's face was a mask of calm indifference, but after the past few years, Faith could tell whenever one of the screws around here was wired and anticipating trouble of some sort.

Finally, they arrived at the Warden's office and Rhodes knocked twice on the door. Upon hearing the muffled "Come in!", Edie turned the doorknob, opened the door and entered the room. Without waiting to be asked, Faith entered the office as well as Edie quickly shut the door behind her.

"Siddown, Convict," the Warden growled at her. Faith did so, wondering what was going on. She knew better than to speak up and ask, though. What with the bad mood the jail boss was in, it was pretty obvious she didn't need to; the man was going to tell her the situation in a very loud and booming voice, soon enough.

"What the fuck is going on with you, Lehane?" the Warden demanded suspiciously, right on cue. "Why are so many people suddenly interested in your ass? First off, someone tries to kill you two days ago. Then I get a phone call from the State Governor's office this morning – from Davis himself, mind you! – before a fax arrives. A fax confirming that later today, you're gonna be issued a freaking Presidential pardon! So I repeat – what the fuck is going on with you? How the hell did you pull off something like _**this?**_ "

"Wasn't me, boss," Faith shook her head, trying to process what she'd just heard. "I swear to you, I had nothing to do with it. And I don't know for sure what's going on, but... I think I can guess who's behind it all."

"Well?!" the Warden yelled, once Faith failed to elaborate any further.

"I, uh, I figure it's probably this bunch of guys in England who want me dead," Faith said vaguely. "They can't get to me in here, so best guess is they decided to use their influence in order to have a clear shot at me, once I'm out."

"Influence? Are you seriously telling me these people can _**influence**_ the goddamn President of the United States?!" the Warden yelled even louder this time.

"I dunno. Maybe. Wouldn't surprise me if they've got someone there on the inside, anyway," Faith shrugged.

The Warden looked at her, before calming down. "Let's get something straight, Convict. I don't like you, because you're a murderer. Hell, according to your file, you've killed more than once. But ever since you showed up here, you haven't caused me any intentional grief. Shit, up until lately you've practically been a model prisoner. So talk to me – who are these people that want you six feet under? If they're violating the law, maybe I can arrange protection for you – "

"No, boss, you can't," Faith interrupted, hoping like hell she wasn't making a huge mistake by doing this. "Way I figure it, these guys know too many people in both high and low places. You try to make waves, my money says you'll find out just how far their reach is. Any dirt under the carpet, for example, they'll somehow make it go public and ruin your life. And if that isn't an option, they'll use more... direct methods. You said you've read my file – did you read that part when someone shot at me from a helicopter in L.A., before I gave myself up? You wanna risk something like that happening to you, or your family?"

Faith could feel Rhodes stiffen not far away, but kept her eyes firmly on the jail boss sitting at the desk in front of her. The Warden stared at her, and then said way too calmly, "That a threat, Convict?"

"No, Warden. I'm just trying to warn ya that you don't have a clue who and what you're really dealing with, here. And you don't have to take my word for it; heck, go ahead and start asking people questions, if you want. Odds are that someone way above your pay grade will tell ya to just shut up and do as you're told; and if you don't, _**that's**_ when the threats will start," Faith told him candidly.

"You seem awfully sure 'bout that, Convict," Rhodes finally spoke up, as the Warden (and Faith herself) looked in the guard's direction. "And you seem pretty damn calm regarding the fact that someone's just painted a huge target on your back, too."

"That target's been there for years, Edie. Besides, I can take care of myself," Faith shrugged. "Whoever or whatever these guys send after me after I get kicked out of here, I'll deal."

"You gonna go to that common law husband of yours for help? What's his name, your visitor on Sunday – that Alexander Harris guy?" Rhodes asked, glancing at the Warden.

"Husband? What? Who are you two talking about?" the jail boss demanded suspiciously.

"Just someone I knew back in high school, boss. And naw, wasn't planning on any such thing," Faith shook her head in response to Edie's question. "Wouldn't want to fuck up Xander's life, and like I said before – we're all estranged and shit, now."

* * *

 _A few hours later – Turner and Peterson Construction, Sunnydale branch office, Sunnydale; mid-morning:_

Knock-knock.

"Come in!"

Xander hesitated, but then complied with the order and entered his immediate superior's office. The Junior VP in charge of Projects and Planning stared at him for a moment before saying, "Siddown, Harris. We need to talk."

"Yes, sir. About what?"

The man didn't say anything for a moment, which only ratcheted up the tension as far as Xander was concerned. Things had been somewhat tense at home this morning, with Cordelia wondering what the hell she was going to do with herself all day while he was at work, and expecting _**him**_ to provide an answer. His suggestion that she hang out with Willow hadn't gone down very well, for some reason. Whether that was because of Cordelia's feelings concerning the whole 'you cheated on me with that red-haired hussy!' thing, or because Willow would be too busy with college classes and researching the amnesia problem, Xander had no idea...

"I got a phone call from Head Office yesterday," the Junior VP said, distracting Xander from his mental musings. "That Mary Worthington woman, Mr. Peterson's private secretary. So I have just one question for you, Harris." The man got up from behind his desk, and approached him closely. "Did you call her after I called you, yesterday afternoon?"

{ _Oh,_ _ **crap**_ _. Mary, what have you done? And what should I say? Should I lie? Should I tell him the truth?_ } Ultimately, Xander decided to go with his instincts and said, "Yes sir, I did." He almost cringed, waiting for his boss to explode in fury and indignation about the request for a transfer to Los Angeles...

But much to his amazement, the Junior VP did no such thing. Instead he smiled, the man actually _**smiled**_ and clapped him on the back. _**Hard**_. { _What the heck?_ } he asked himself in sheer disbelief, as his boss started chuckling.

"I have to hand it to you, Harris – you've not only got brains, you surely got the balls to go with 'em," the Junior VP chortled, as he ambled back to his chair. "Just about anyone else, they'd have called their contact in the company and either trash-talked me or applied for a transfer, after what happened between us yesterday. But not you. No, you're smarter than that, aren't you? Yup, you sure are – and you're definitely gonna be going places with that kind of moxie, I swear. You know how to play the game, you surely do!"

"Uh... thank you, sir," Xander replied weakly, still not sure what the hell was going on here.

Luckily, his boss didn't appear to notice. The man said laughingly, "You've probably been planning this for a while, haven't you? And your timing doesn't suck at all, I have to admit. Hell, I don't know how you managed to convince that Worthington woman to recommend me to Mr. Peterson for that new position in the Glendale office – but then, I don't need to. I've just gotten my dream job in the big city, and that's all I care about! And you'll be pleased to know that you've just been promoted to my old spot, here at this branch of the company. I'll be making the big announcement in a few minutes at the staff meeting, but I thought you should know beforehand, obviously."

"Uh... yes, sir. Um, thank you for that," Xander managed to say, his mind still attempting to make sense of all this.

"You're welcome. Now, we'll need to discuss details later on today, of course – I'm gonna have to bring you up to speed on all of the Construction and Contracting division's projects and operations before I go, and you're going to have to pick someone to take over your job as Assistant Junior VP. Got any ideas on who?" the newly promoted T&P executive asked, almost absently.

"Uh, there's two or three guys I can think of right off the top of my head, sir. I'm gonna need a chance to talk with them, conduct interviews either today or tomorrow before I make my final choice," Xander semi-babbled on autopilot, still trying to cope with everything that had just happened.

"OK, whatever. I'll leave that in your hands; just give me the name before I head for L.A., so I can file the paperwork before I start my new job there," Xander's boss told him, before starting to examine a number of papers on his desk. "Anyway, that'll be all for now. And don't forget to make an appointment with my secretary to see me after lunch; we'll have a lot to do during this afternoon, like I said."

"Yes, sir, will do," Xander replied, feeling more than slightly freaked as his boss chortled again and waved at him to get out. Feeling dazed, he quickly exited the office and headed for the main lunch room and cafeteria, to grab some much-needed liquid refreshment.

"Harris? You OK?" Tony asked, as the foreman spotted him gulping down the contents of the water cooler like he was dying of thirst.

"I honestly don't know," Xander replied vaguely, even as Tony continued to stare at him in concern. "Although I get the feeling my life's just gotten a lot more complicated... "

* * *

 _Many hours later – Xander's apartment, Sunnydale; late afternoon:_

Cordelia sat on the living room couch, bored. She switched off the idiot box and glanced at her recently repaired watch, wondering when Xander was coming home from work. The thought instantly annoyed her; because for one thing, her life should NOT revolve around the Doofus – even though right now, however much Cordy hated to admit it, it sorta did – and for another, it was 2002 nowadays (even if it still felt like '98 to her, but whatever), and the whole 1950s female mindset thing was so _**not**_ her!

With nothing else to do, she'd spent most of her time today at the Sunnydale Public Library, trying to catch up on everything that had happened in the world since junior year. It had been so weird how the librarian there had initially assumed she was as computer-savvy as Willow had been in the old days; but with that wrinkly old spinster's help, Cordy figured she'd managed to access enough news articles to at least get _**some**_ idea regarding most of the major events during the last four and a half years.

Like the Bill Clinton/Monica Lewinsky sex scandal, just a few months after her memories of 1998 ended.

The war in Kosovo during 1999.

The attack on the _USS Cole_ during Y2K.

The terrorist attacks of 9/11, during 2001.

Even that terrorist bombing in Bali last month, which was still a major talking point in certain circles with regard to President Bush (and the fact that _**that**_ guy had actually gotten himself elected? Still totally wigsome, to her mind) and his so-called War on Terror.

Suddenly, the front door opened, and Xander came in. In a flash, Cordelia was up off the couch and walking towards him. She could see the thousand yard expression on his face and said worriedly, "What is it? Xander, what's wrong?"

"Uh, nothing I guess," the lamer said absently in reply, which instantly caused her to roll her eyes in annoyance.

"Seriously? I can tell how it's not 'nothing', Dumbass. You have 'something' face," Cordelia told him frankly, causing him to stare at her in surprise. "Now, spill! What happened today? Did Willow manage to figure out how to fix my little memory problem? Oh, wait, no – she didn't tell you that it's _**not**_ fixable, did she?!"

"What? Oh, no! No, honey, it's nothing like that," Xander said, and instantly, Cordelia's pulse quickened slightly at his unconscious use of the endearment. She made a snap decision to forgive him for hurting her feelings with the whole 'Anya' thing last night as Harris added, "It's just, something unusual happened at work today... "

"Like what? Oh, don't tell me you got fired for taking the day off yesterday, and refusing to come in when your boss called you up to do it?" Cordy asked in sudden horror.

"No... I got a promotion. 'Cause that guy's just been transferred to L.A., and I'm taking over his job," Xander said slowly, still looking like he couldn't quite believe it.

She blinked. "Oh-kay... " Cordelia shook her head. "You just threw me on the hairpin curve. Wanna run that by me again?"

"I'm serious," Harris replied. "I mean, hey, I get where you're coming from! I thought for sure there had to be some sorta mistake, but apparently it's all on the up and up. I'm now the Junior VP in charge of Projects and Planning, with a new corner office and a pay rise of roughly ten grand a year, on top of what I'm already making... "

She instantly squealed in happiness. "Oh my God! You're actually serious? But hey, that's great news! _**Incredible**_ news! So why aren't you all with the celebrating, already?"

"Because I was expecting to transfer to Los Angeles – and to swallow a demotion and pay cut for it – not to be offered my boss's job here in Sunnydale on a silver platter," Xander explained carefully. "Good Godfrey Cambridge, Cor, think about it. This sort of thing doesn't just happen! Well, not to _**me**_ , anyway. It's almost as if... "

"As if what?"

"As if something's determined to keep me here in Sunnydale," Xander shook his head, looking troubled. "And that worries me, sweetheart, more than just a bit."

"Oh, will you quit it with being so negative?" Cordelia said sternly, before grabbing him by the lapels. "You listen to me, Dummy! You are _**not**_ cursed never to know a moment's happiness or success, OK? However it happened, this is a _**good**_ thing! I mean, hey, are you telling me you're not capable of doing this new job you've been given?"

"Well, no – I can do it, definitely, I mean that's not the issue – "

"Did you do anything wrong in acquiring the promotion, however it happened? Like conspiracy, bribery, whatever?" she demanded, cutting him off.

"No, 'course not!" Xander replied with a slight glare. "Cordy, I never asked Mary to do something like this!"

"Then what's your problem?" Cordelia abruptly let go, and gave her former boyfriend a stern look. "Stop overthinking things, ya big goof! Now, like I said, we need to start celebrating your good fortune today – and I can't think of anything better than you and me having dinner at my favorite French restaurant, later tonight. So take off those smelly clothes and go take a shower while I make the reservations, OK? Then put on your best suit and wait here, while I put on that blue dress you bought me – along with those cute little Ferragamo pumps. Now, go on, move that hopeless ass of yours!" She shoved the bemused-looking Xander towards his room, continually pushing until the guy was safely behind his bedroom door.

Cordelia quickly rang the number of her favorite restaurant, which was named Didier's; and much to her relief, she discovered that it was still in business. She made the eight o'clock reservations for two, and upon hearing Xander taking a shower, she retreated to her own (tiny!) bedroom in order to plan how best to knock the bozo's socks off later on tonight.

{ _Lessee, in order – hair, clothes, makeup, shoes..._ } Yes, it shouldn't take more than half an hour, at least if she hurried.

Wasn't smart to make your guy wait _**too**_ long for you to get ready for a night on the town, after all, until you were safely back together with him again.

* * *

 _Later that night – outside the Sunnydale city limits, State Highway 33; evening:_

Jonathan and Andrew were heading for the Hellmouth in their car, having been on the road for nearly forty-eight hours. Perhaps unsurprisingly, given their geek nature, their El Camino was heavily adorned in a super-stereotypical Mexican style: the car had a fringe around the top of the windshield, and lots of decorations. Jonathan was driving, with Andrew beside him riding shotgun.

Andrew sighed. "You keep circling around. Just, just drive straight in."

Jonathan glared at him. "Will you shut up? We gotta keep it low pro."

Andrew shook his head. "Admit it. You're just scared."

Levinson snorted and replied, "Yeah, of _**course**_ I'm scared. And I have every right to be. 'Cause last time we were here, thirty-three point three bar percent of us were flayed alive. Remember? And you and me almost got fried by a black-eyed badass, who makes the Wicked Witch of the West look like the Good Witch of the North by comparison!"

Wells shook his head. "Calm down, li'l feller. No one's getting flayed alive this time. We got a plan, remember? We're gonna fix all that."

Jonathan didn't look convinced. "Tell you the truth, I almost wish I'd stayed in Mexico."

Andrew immediately shook his head again. "Ah, I never really liked it there. Everybody spoke Mexicoan."

Levinson scoffed, "You could've learned it. You learned the entire Klingon dictionary in two and a half weeks!"

Andrew replied defensively, "That had much clearer transitive and intransitive rules, OK? Besides, I can't keep having those nightmares."

"Me, neither. Desde abajo te debora," Jonathan muttered, partly to himself.

Andrew briefly looked out the window. "It eats you starting with your bottom."

"Gonna have to make things right," Levinson told his companion.

Andrew replied, getting all misty-eyed, "I know. We're like outlaws, with hearts of gold!"

Jonathan subsequently made a decision, and they soon drove past the "Welcome to Sunnydale" street sign; with neither nerd having any idea what the evening held in store for them, later on at the high school...

TBC…

* * *

A/N: Bet most of you had forgotten about Duo of Dorkness, huh? And major thanks to Ian (a.k.a. Alkeni) for consultation about the British Watcher (of Indian heritage) named Nigel, what his surname should be; if you haven't read his Iron Coin Chronicles Season 2 story yet, you definitely should! Along with all the other fanfics in that story series, as well as his other stuff. Anyway, thanks as always to everyone who's read and reviewed the story so far, please keep sending us your feedback and critique! Should we kill off Jonathan? Should Xander get lucky? Should Wesley make some major life changes? Inquiring minds want to know!


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

 _Tuesday, November 12, 2002 – Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; late evening:_

Charles Gunn was half-tired, half-grumpy, and half-troubled. { _And yeah, three halves and all that? Listen up, logic – y'all can damn well bite me, 'cause I don't give a rat's ass right now..._ }

Tired, because he and the others had been busy all day, looking for Angel and Cordelia. He, personally, had looked everywhere he could think of; 'leave no stone unturned' type scenario. To borrow a phrase from his favorite movie, he'd checked out every warehouse, henhouse, outhouse and whorehouse they might have been hiding in; yet all without finding the missing members of the family.

Grumpy because, again, he had been looking all day without finding any trace of his undead employer and Barbie Girl. The lack of success did sorta grate on his nerves. Charles considered himself a results-oriented type of guy, and manly pride made Angel's disappearing act in particular kinda hard to swallow. OK, sure, vampire. Gunn knew from personal experience how hard they were to find, if they didn't _**want**_ to be found. But still, that didn't make it any easier to stomach.

Troubled because... well, in a word, Fred.

Gunn still remembered everything, after taking a sip of that disgusting crap which was the cure to the magical amnesia. He remembered everything he'd done while thinking he was seventeen; everything he'd thought, everything he'd felt. And most troubling to him were his feelings towards Fred, whilst caught up in the grip of Lorne's whacked-out spell.

Or rather... the _**lack**_ of said feelings towards his girlfriend.

Gunn knew he wasn't the most expressive of men in this world; the life he'd led since escaping that damned orphanage simply wouldn't allow it. The only one he'd been able to open up to in the old days was his little sister, Alonna; and even then only in private, where the rest of his crew couldn't see. He had always acted that way, because that was the only way to survive.

But then, Fred had come along and smashed that theory to pieces. After they'd finally gotten together, he'd let himself feel things he'd never felt before. And for a while, everything had been – perfect.

Funny how one little murder – even if it was the slaying of a serial killer, who had murdered at least four people himself – could change all of that, so damn quickly.

Gunn figured this was something he and his girlfriend needed to talk about. Last night, after his memory had been restored, he'd automatically moved to hug and kiss her – but straightaway, Fred had recoiled away from him. Almost like he was a leper or something. And at the time, he'd let it go, but now...

Charles hesitated, wondering if he should just walk right in, but then he decided to knock on the door to Fred's room. Their room. Whatever. "Fred?"

"You don't need to knock, Charles, come on in."

Feeling slightly annoyed, Gunn opened the door and walked inside, closing the door behind him. As he looked around, he saw all the signs of Fred's absentminded genius – an empty pizza box resting on the bureau drawer, clothes strewn everywhere, scientific equations scribbled all over the walls – and Gunn had to restrain himself from automatically picking up after her. So not the time for that, right now.

"We need to talk," he said simply, noting how his girlfriend didn't make any attempt to get within arm's reach of him – and not liking it in the slightest. Charles hated it how so much distance has grown between them, since Oliver Seidel's murder...

"About what?" Fred replied, cocking her head slightly.

"You know what, Fred." Gunn shook his head, as the Texan woman suddenly took a step back. "Look, we can't avoid talking about this forever. I mean, what happened that night in Seidel's apartment. It's like all that is tearing us apart, and I honestly can't take it no more. I don't want to keep feeling like this, baby; I hate this!"

"Well, how do you think _**I**_ feel about it?" Fred shot back, her voice rising several octaves in the process. "And, and, what do you want me to say? We killed a guy. It's done. What good is it gonna do us _**talking**_ about it?"

"Fred – "

"Not to mention talking about how you didn't let me do what I set out to do, that night!"

Silence. Deafening. Two words Gunn had heard before, but until now, he had never truly understood their significance. "WHAT?"

"You heard me, Charles." Fred began to pace around the room, saying, "As soon as I found out who it was that had ruined my life, not to mention killed those other four students, God help me... but I wanted nothing more than to watch Professor Seidel _**die!**_ I wanted him to suffer the way he made me suffer, to hurt him the way he had hurt me. And then, when the big moment finally arrived... "

She paused for a few seconds. "You ended up killing him for me. You." Fred laughed bitterly and added, "I guess that in the end that murderous son of a bitch won after all, didn't he?"

"NO!" Gunn said desperately. He reached out and grabbed his girlfriend, forcing her to look at him. "Fred, don't think that! It's not like that – "

"Isn't it?" Fred said, shrugging away his arms and cutting him off mid-denial. "Tell me the truth, Charles. Look at what's happened to our relationship. Look at how difficult it is for me to even touch you any longer. You still think Professor Seidel hasn't gotten his posthumous revenge?"

"That guy only wins if you let him, Fred," Gunn said passionately, willing her to believe him – and trying not to think of how everything was currently unraveling, right before his eyes.

"Seriously? _**Now**_ I have a choice in the matter?" Fred scoffed, coming closer.

Gunn stiffened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're not an idiot, Charles, you know perfectly well what I mean! We wouldn't be talking about this, we wouldn't even be having any problems right now – if you'd just stayed out of it! Why couldn't you have just taken the hint that I didn't want you to get involved? Why couldn't you have stayed here in the hotel that night?"

Gunn honestly couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You really think _**that**_ was an option? You were gonna go face that guy – someone who'd tried to kill you, 'n more than once – and I was supposed to just stay here? You honestly thought I wouldn't do anything I had to, in order to protect you from him?"

"Protect me?" Fred replied, incredulously. " _ **Protect**_ me? My Lord, but you're actually serious, aren't you? Charles – maybe you've forgotten, but I survived five years in Pylea, all alone! Did it never occur to you that I didn't _**need**_ your protection? That I was trying to protect _**you**_ from the consequences of my actions?" she shouted at him, emotion overwhelming her.

"And yet, you went and got Wes involved," Gunn told her bitterly, the words already spoken before he realized just what he'd said. Damn brain to mouth filter. Obviously defective. "I mean – "

"I know what you meant," Fred interrupted coldly. "And for your information, the reasons I went to Wesley for help? One, because I knew that he'd give it, if I just asked politely. Two, because I knew that helping me take a human life wasn't something that he'd lose any sleep over, not anymore. Three, because I knew Wesley would respect my right to make my own decisions."

Pause. "Unlike you, Charles."

Those three words were like a knife straight to his heart. Gunn knew that he'd sacrificed a lot in his time; but the biggest sacrifice of all – killing a man, so that the woman he loved wouldn't have to – now felt dust and ashes in his mouth. And the worst part was he knew that, if given the chance to do it all over again, he wouldn't do anything differently – not if it meant that Fred's soul would be spared that particular taint. { _Damn it, why can't she see that?_ }

{ _Or maybe_ _ **I'm**_ _the one who can't get what she's tryin' to tell me,_ } Gunn cogitated, after replaying the conversation in his mind. { _Maybe it's totally old-fashioned or whatever, but the idea of Fred wanting the right to be able to personally commit murder? I just don't have no truck with that..._ }

"Lemme guess what you're thinking right now, Charles. Is it something like, why can't she understand that I did it all for her? Why can't she act like the woman I fell in love with, who would never hurt anybody? Why can't it all just go back to the way it was before, and we can simply forget all this ever happened?" Fred asked, her eyes staring into his. "Am I close?"

"Not exactly," Gunn replied thickly. "And guess I do have a problem with the woman I love wantin' the right to kill somebody, when she decides it's necessary."

Fred nodded, slowly. "When _**she**_ decides, right. Charles, do you know what they used to say to women in this country, like all the time? My grandma told me it was patronizing stuff like, 'don't get so upset.' 'Don't rock the boat.' 'Don't do anything that'll just make things worse,'" she drawled in a suddenly-thick Texan accent. "I'm curious – does that sound similar to what the white folks used to say, during the days of segregation and racial discrimination?"

Gunn looked at her in stunned shock, unable to believe that Fred would _**ever**_ say something like that to him. "Not the same thing, 'n you know it," he eventually spluttered.

"All I know is that things are different now, Charles," Fred said in a low tone of voice, seemingly unable to look at him anymore. "I'm different. You're different. Killing Professor Seidel – I honestly don't know if we fit together any longer, after we did that."

"So what are you sayin', Fred?"

"That maybe we should take a break," the dark-haired woman replied slowly.

"OK, whatever. I don't wanna fight with you – so let's go get some ice cream, or – " Gunn started to say.

"No, Charles. I meant, take a break from _**us**_ ," Fred said sadly.

Silence. Deafening. Not to mention Gunn felt like his girlfriend had somehow just ripped out his heart, and stomped all over it. "You sayin' you wanna break up with me?"

"No," Fred replied immediately. "Just... I need to figure some stuff out, Charles. And until I do... maybe it'd be better if you moved into another room here in the hotel. There's plenty of empty ones, after all."

{ _Sounds like a breakup to me,_ } Gunn thought to himself, even though he didn't say that out loud. He just nodded, gathered all his things together and carried them into the room next door; a temporary resting spot, until he could find a better place in the Hyperion to make his own.

A heartbroken shell of the man he'd been, less than ten minutes ago.

* * *

 _The same time – Mara Sunil Temple, Kathmandu Valley, Nepal; morning (due to the time zone difference):_

Oz stood at a window and looked out at the Bagmati river, which was just barely visible from his vantage point within the temple. He suddenly recalled the lessons which had been passed on to him after he'd arrived here; including the four noble truths of Chán Buddhism.

 _1\. Life is suffering._

As Oz meditated upon that first truth, he remembered all the events of his life that had led him here. Learning that after being bitten by Jordy, his little cousin, he'd been cursed with lycanthropy. Learning that Willow was cheating on him with Xander. Learning that Willow was utterly devastated after he'd cheated on her with Veruca. Learning that Willow had chosen Tara instead of him, after he'd (briefly) returned to Sunnydale.

All life is suffering, the Buddha had taught. Universal is the pain. Oz figured he had learned that lesson well, especially after being thrown into that Initiative prison cell by Buffy's boyfriend and getting experimented upon, before he'd finally escaped the Hellmouth.

 _2\. Suffering is caused by the wish for non-permanent things._

The second truth espoused by the Great Teacher. Not exactly a popular concept in the West, Oz knew, given the massive consumer-oriented focus of that society. Still, he figured that all over the world, it was simply human nature to wish for such things.

Like the house with a white picket fence, the zebra-striped van, the bass guitar you'd wanted even before puberty had set in...

Maybe even the life you wanted to have, with the red-haired woman you'd lost your heart to.

{ _Still, all living things die,_ } Oz thought to himself. { _Eventually, everything physical falls apart. And in a world of violence like this one, people get killed – like what apparently happened to that Tara girl._ }

 _3\. Suffering ends when non-lasting things are rejected._

Oz remembered how, before he'd left the States for the second time, he had been in a very bad place in his life. It had taken coming back to Asia and putting the past behind him before he'd finally managed to gain some semblance of inner peace. Studying the Buddha's teachings had shown him that, in the end, only eternal goals were truly worth pursuing.

{ _But if that's the case,_ } Oz thought to himself slowly, { _then why do I suddenly find that hard to believe, after hearing from Dream Amy what's been happening in Sunnydale lately?_ }

If the Buddha was right, there was no past, and no future. Only the naked now.

Did that mean that his love for Willow, even if it lasted only for a moment in the grand scheme of things, ought to be grasped and cherished, because that instant lasted forever?

Oz didn't know the answer to that question. Something which troubled him greatly.

 _4\. Seek the eternal. The forever-lasting._

Oz meditated on this fourth and final truth. He knew that the words meant different things to different people. In America, they would be taken to mean adopting a new religion, or finding God; here, they meant finding a way so that the present became forever, in order to achieve Enlightenment. Finding a way for the now to become eternity, to be freed from the endless cycle of life, death and rebirth...

Along with all the attendant pains and pleasures.

{ _Everything except spirit is based on illusion,_ } Oz remembered hearing from one of the Masters of the temple. { _Neither pain nor pleasure are real. To the enlightened mind, they simply don't exist._ } And in a violent world such as this one, that theory was certainly attractive. But Hell – the Hellmouth – persisted, despite the theory.

Along with the current danger to Willow's life.

Breathing out slowly, Oz shook his head, flexed his shoulders, and looked away from the window at his surroundings. He examined the tiles and marble of the temple, and became aware of the tinkling wind chimes and the fragrance of incense. Walking away, Oz soon came to a huge golden statue of the Buddha, its surface reflecting the morning sunlight. He stared at the image of the Great Teacher, the traditional sculpture of Siddhartha Gautama seated with his legs crossed, his hands upon his knees, caught in a moment of eternal instruction.

Spirit. That was the real truth behind the Buddhist philosophy, to Oz's mind. { _The one thing you can truly control,_ } he thought to himself, { _is whether you choose to be a good person or a bad one..._ }

"You appear troubled."

Oz turned around, surprised to hear a voice speaking to him in English. His eyes briefly widened at seeing who his companion was. He replied in the same language, "Grand Master, this is an unexpected honor."

"Walk with me, young one." The wizened old man said nothing more, merely turning around and strolling away. Oz hurried slightly to catch up. The Grand Master then said, "Speak."

"I am troubled, yes."

The monk smiled briefly. "I will need more than that, if I am to help you."

"Help me with what, Grand Master?"

"The dream pathways to Bhaktapur have been busy, lately," the old man said somewhat cryptically. "And one such traveler has made a long journey in order to meet with you. Her visit has reminded you of things you had almost forgotten. People you had almost forgotten."

"All this is true," Oz replied laconically.

The Grand Master chuckled slightly, before leading him to an alcove. The head monk gestured at Oz to sit down, and the werewolf did so, copying the Grand Master's kneeling position. "Tell me of what transpired between you."

Oz obeyed, holding nothing back. The old man nodded, once the tale was fully told. "You are confused on what is the right thing to do next. To go back, or to stay here."

Oz shook his head. "There is nothing for me in Sunnydale, Grand Master. Not anymore."

"The river tells no lies. But a man standing close to the riverbank can still hear them," the head monk replied, before reaching for a jade cup lacking any handle. "Like this cup... you are full of questions. To see the light of wisdom... you first must empty your cup." The Grand Master drank, briefly, and then offered the cup to him.

{ _Have faith,_ } Oz told himself, before he accepted the cup and dutifully emptied the contents down his throat.

Immediately, his head felt funny. Oz wasn't sure what was going on, as the Grand Master's voice seemed to fill his mind. "Think, young one. Meditate deeply on the words this magical traveler has spoken to you. What is the right thing to do?"

Oz almost swayed from side to side, his head suddenly full of... colors. Amy's voice echoed in his mind, { _Willow needs a solid anchor from someone with the right connection to her._ }

The colors swirled around in his mind's eye, making Oz feel even more confused and disoriented.

{ _And even though she left Boys Town a long time ago, you two still have that sort of connection._ }

The colors suddenly changed from a red-yellow hue to a blue-violet one.

{ _I miss Oz, I really do. Normal guy like me, except for three days of the month; but come a full moon, he had a wolf-y mojo that was definitely not to be messed with._ }

Oz barely had time to register how that sounded like Xander's voice, before the colors changed yet again. A weird combination of purple and lilac...

{ _I feel like some part of me will always be waiting for you. Like if I'm old and blue-haired, and I turn the corner in Istanbul and there you are, I won't be surprised. Because... you're with me, you know?_ }

Willow's voice faded as the colors expanded, morphing into something that couldn't be explained or described. It was like seeing X-rays or radio waves with your own eyes, colors that held no meaning to normal human comprehension. Oz felt more confused than ever...

Abruptly, his head cleared, and the effects of the liquid vanished. Oz stared at the Grand Master, his mind and heart full of unspoken questions.

"You have come far, young one," the old man said approvingly, after he remained silent. "Further perhaps than you currently realize. And farther still to travel."

Oz bowed his head politely, knowing his path had now changed irrevocably from what it was before.

* * *

 _A while later – minimum security wing of the Northern California Women's Facility in Stockton, California; afternoon:_

Faith paced around restlessly, looking around at her new (temporary) accommodations. Standard procedure for any inmate about to be released; plus, once the news got out that she'd been pardoned for her crimes, her enemies in here would probably go all out to get at her while they still could. Even Deb would want to try again, somehow, even though she had already been sent to the hole -slash- solitary confinement.

The events of the past two days were still somewhat hard for her to believe, to be honest. On Saturday, she'd been an ordinary convict (well, semi-ordinary; Slayer, of course), stuck away from things of the male persuasion and contemplating spending at least the next twenty years behind bars, willingly. But now, Faith knew, she had to face the fact that she was a target for the First Evil – not to mention the friggin' Council.

In one sense, arranging for her to get kicked out of here wasn't entirely unexpected. She'd been expecting something more along the lines of an assassin, someone a bit more competent than good old Deb, but Faith figured it wasn't impossible that those old farts in England might have finally wised up a bit. If caught, any prisoner (or even any guard) could be made to talk – the Warden _**was**_ hardass enough to do that – and that could lead to problems for the Tweed Brigade. Problems which someone over there with even an ounce of brains could point out were totally unnecessary.

Much easier to use their political sway to get her cut loose from the system, and then pick up where they'd left off – that night those assholes had been shooting at her and B, from that goddamn helicopter.

{ _No, wait, they probably won't try that again,_ } Faith suddenly thought to herself. { _Too risky to go in for a repeat performance. If they're smart enough now to think of getting me released from jail in order to kill me, then they're smart enough to have come up with something more subtle than that whole death-from-the-sky thing._ } She couldn't help wondering how the Watchers would go about it...

It suddenly occurred to Faith to wonder whether maybe – just maybe – the Council wasn't doing all this in order to kill her, but recruit her for the fight against the First Evil instead?

She quickly dismissed that notion, though. She simply couldn't let herself believe that Xander could accomplish something like that. It was tempting to think her old boy-toy would try to pull whatever strings he could after that little visit, sure; but sad fact was that no one apart from Jeeves would even listen to him. And hell, from what Harris had said on Sunday – even Buffy's Watcher was kinda iffy on that, nowadays.

{ _Damn it, I hope the Council's goon squad isn't_ _ **stupid**_ _enough to try to ambush the prison bus as it goes out the front gates and heads for Stockton,_ } Faith thought to herself in sudden concern. { _Last thing I need is more civilian deaths on my conscience._ } She wondered whether or not to warn Rhodes about the possibility of something like that, and eventually decided to sleep on it.

She suspected tomorrow would come soon enough, and bring a lot more problems with it.

* * *

 _A few hours later – 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale; evening:_

"Anchovies, anchovies, you're so delicious. I love you more than all the other fishes," Dawn sang in the kitchen, while eating the pizza Buffy had quite specifically told her _**not**_ to order this evening. Getting bored, she grabbed the last slice and headed upstairs to her sister's bedroom. Still holding the pizza slice while going through Buffy's clothes and holding them up to her in front of the mirror, Dawn accidentally brushed the pizza against Buffy's favorite white blouse.

"Oh, no. Ah, whatever, she'll think it's blood... "

* * *

 _The same time – main research table at the Magic Box, Sunnydale; evening:_

{ _I wonder what's taking Anya so long, down in the basement? She can't be avoiding me because of what happened last year, can she?_ }

It was possible, and even likely; but either way, Willow knew she was fighting to stay awake as she went over the various volumes Xander's former fiancée had in stock on magical amnesia. Willow knew that she'd been neglecting her college studies, and she really ought to be studying at the UC Sunnydale library for her mid-terms right now; but kinda funny how Cordelia showing up in town again had made her adjust her priorities.

All right, maybe not funny ha-ha – but funny in terms of making up for past mistakes, and ruining Xander and Cordelia's relationship way back when.

"So," a female voice said, as Willow turned to look behind her. "This is the Magic Box, huh? Slayer Central and all that. Hey."

Willow blinked, staring at the new arrival. "I know you. I mean, I've seen your picture."

Cassie Newton, or at least someone that _**looked**_ like the deceased precognitive girl Buffy had tried to help a few weeks back, walked over to Willow's table. "Yeah, I know, it's really weird; 'cause we never actually met."

Willow stared at her. "Actually, I think it's really weird because you're dead."

Cassie laughed, slightly. "Yeah, well... "

"Did I fall asleep?" she asked, partly to herself.

"No, no, I'm here. I mean, not, not here-here... it's kinda complicated. Kind of ironic, too, you know. I wrote all that intense poetry about death and dying, and yet here I am again."

"Yeah, ironic," Willow replied, feeling even more uncomfortable.

Cassie sighed. "I knew this would completely freak you out. It's just – " She sat at the table, leaning back against the chair slightly. "She asked that I come talk to you. It's important."

"She?" Willow asked in confusion.

"Don't worry. I'm not gonna hurt you, or anything – " Cassie started to say.

"Who asked you to come here? What are you talking about?" Willow interrupted suspiciously.

"She says she still sings," Cassie replied cryptically.

"What?"

"Remember that time on the bridge when you sang to each other? Well, she says even though you can't hear it, she still sings to you," the blond girl with purple highlights in her hair said, looking away to the side.

"Tara?" Willow suddenly looked thunderstruck. She reached out, but Cassie pulled away out of reach. "Are you talking about Tara?"

"Yeah, listen, don't freak out but she – "

"If that's true, then why isn't she here in person?" Willow demanded angrily. "If you can manifest yourself, why can't she?"

The blond girl shrugged slightly. "I'm sorry. She just can't."

"That's not a good enough reason," Willow said, getting up off her chair as Cassie did the same. The redhead reached forward with her hand again, but the blond backed off immediately.

"Look, I just need to tell you – " Cassie started to say. But suspicion had crystallized into something more by this point, and Willow unexpectedly darted forward, sticking her hand through the non-corporeal female form.

"You're not a ghost, are you?" Willow asked, lowering her hand. "'Cause that sure didn't feel like ectoplasm to me. Wanna tell me who you really are? 'Cause I already figured out you're not that Cassie Newton girl."

"You BITCH!" 'Cassie' suddenly snarled, dropping the act and glaring at Willow.

"I thought so. You're the First," she replied, glaring right back at the eldritch horror. "I mean, you're not actually gonna deny it, are you? So what do you want?"

"Me? Oh, Rosenberg, of all the questions you could ask," the First Evil said, as it morphed into the image of Warren Mears – the man Willow had killed six months ago. "I want it all. Fact is, the whole good-versus-evil, balancing the scales thing? I'm over it. I'm done with the mortal coil. Horror. Bloodshed. Destruction. All that crap, it's coming. And believe me, the big finish is something you're _**not**_ gonna live through."

"From beneath you it devours," Willow quoted the words D'Hoffryn had spoken during the previous month, staring at the non-corporeal nightmare.

"Oh, not it. Me."

Willow watched in disbelief as Warren's skin rolled back, and his jaws flipped back and he started turning inside out until he was a floating ball of flesh, then – poof! Warren/the First disappeared altogether.

* * *

 _A short while earlier – Restfield Cemetery, Sunnydale; evening:_

Buffy knelt beside the fresh grave, watching as a hand popped out of the soil. "Here we go... "

Soon, the undead version of Holden Webster dug himself out of his grave. He was dressed in a nice black suit, wearing a light blue shirt and a tie. Buffy didn't waste time; she started to fight him, and the ensuing battle was as vicious as it was deadly. Finally, the vampire pushed Buffy back against a headstone and grabbed her throat, going for the kill when he suddenly stopped, and said to her –

"Buffy? Buffy Summers?"

The Slayer blinked. "Have we-?"

"Oh, uh. Webs? Holden Webster. We went to school together. European History? I let you crib off my Václav Havel essay that time. You, you really don't remember me?"

"Oh, sure. Sure I do," Buffy replied, less than convincingly.

"Yeah, right. What's happened to me?" Webs asked, as his face abruptly changed from demon to human. "Whoa! Did I just-?"

"Yeah, you can do that now. On account of you're a vampire," Buffy told him somewhat sadly.

"Oh, so I'm a vampire." He laughed, briefly. "Huh. How weird is that?"

"Sorry," Buffy said sincerely, mourning the loss of someone she'd – apparently – known in high school.

"No, no. Don't be. I feel – strong. Like I'm connected to a powerful, all-consuming evil that's gonna suck the world into a fiery oblivion. How 'bout you?"

"Not so much with the connected lately," Buffy reluctantly admitted. "Still, I got a job to do. Me Slayer; you dust pile."

"Slayer?" Webs asked, with what looked like absolute fascination. "You mean, you do this sort of thing professionally?"

"Yeah. Well, not in the sense of a paying job, it's – it's more of a calling. Even back when we were in school," Buffy shrugged.

"Oh. Well, I guess that explains a lot," Webs nodded. "Maybe even why you dumped Scott Hope, back then. Even though _**he**_ said that you were secretly gay."

"What? Oh, that ringworm! How dare he... " Buffy exploded, fuming.

"Hey, I wouldn't take it personally; he said that about _**every**_ girl who dumped him. And then last year, big surprise – he finally comes out," Webs shrugged.

"He what? Oh ye gods. _**Men!**_ Do I know how to pick 'em, or what?" Buffy shook her head.

"Oh? You've had a lot of relationship problems over the years, then? Maybe I can help, psych major at Dartmouth and all."

Buffy briefly glared at the soulless vampire. "Emotional therapy from the evil undead? Not really my thing."

Webs raised an eyebrow. "You know, back in high school, I noticed how you always had a significant tell whenever the teachers asked you something, and you lied about it. And I just saw that tell again now. So, what, you've had lots of emotional hearts-to-hearts with vampires before now?"

"I have not! And we are _**not**_ having an emotional heart-to-heart, here!" Buffy exclaimed angrily.

"No need to get angry... "

"I mean, why would I do that? Why would I put myself through something like that? Why would I put myself through heartbreak, misery, sexual violence, and possible death?" she ranted, even more angrily.

"OK, it sounds like someone's got issues... "

"Issues? I'll issue you! You vampires, you're all the same. It's all about sex and death and love and pain with you, and even when you claim to love someone, you'll still – "

"Oh my God!" the vampire interrupted, staring at her in astonishment. "Well, not _**my**_ God, obviously, but – wow!"

Buffy calmed down and said, "What?"

Webs asked her, "Have you ever been in a sexual relationship... with a vampire like me?"

Unfortunately for him, that was the last straw as far as Buffy was concerned, and they started fighting again. This time for real. Webs ducked and weaved, getting a few punches and kicks in here and there; but even with his Tae Kwan Do training and undead strength, he was no match for an angry Vampire Slayer with seven years' fighting experience. The vampire eventually fell to the ground and ended up flat on his back, and Buffy straddled his chest, pointing a stake at his heart.

"The condemned man usually gets a last request. So, could you answer my question? Were you in a relationship with a vampire?" Webs asked, before Buffy could dispatch him.

"Yeah. His name was Spike," Buffy admitted quietly, her arm still upraised.

"Hold the phone. Did you say Spike?!" Webs asked in pure astonishment.

"Yeah, why? You know him?" Buffy narrowed her eyes into slits.

"Sure; he was the guy who, uh, vampified – "

"Sired," Buffy corrected automatically.

"Huh?"

"Sired. Turning a human into a vampire, the appropriate term is 'sired,'" Buffy explained.

"Oh. Right. Well, it's just kinda funny, seeing as Spike was the guy that sired me," Holden said, honestly.

No sooner than he had said that, though, Buffy's stake flashed down, dust exploded everywhere – and there was the brief, horrible, whistling shriek of an escaping demon being sent back to Hell.

* * *

 _A few hours later – the Bronze, Sunnydale; night:_

Spike sat in silence, drinking whiskey alone within the teen club, as the bartender this evening wasn't as picky as the one from last night. A blond woman in a faux-fur trimmed jean jacket put down a pack of cigarettes on the bar in front of him. He raised his eyebrows, turned to look at her and nodded to the stool beside him. She sat down next to him, and they started to talk.

Not long afterwards he escorted her out of the Bronze, smiling. The woman started laughing, at least making it _**seem**_ like she was having a good time. Eventually, they arrived at her apartment building, and she gestured for him to come inside. Spike stood still, though, keeping his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. She came back down the stairs and stood close to him, a confused look on her face.

Without warning, Spike morphed into his vampire face and sank his fangs into her neck. He drank deeply, but she didn't struggle all that much and barely even made a sound as the lifeblood was sucked out of her.

A few moments later, Spike dropped the corpse onto the ground. He turned slightly, his fangs and mouth dripping with blood. He wiped his lips with his hand, before staring down at the body.

* * *

 _Earlier that evening – Xander's apartment, Sunnydale; evening:_

Xander waited for Cordelia to get ready and come out of her room. He kept himself busy, figuring that she wouldn't be too long; not if they wanted to make it to the restaurant on time, anyway. He figured she wouldn't have forgotten that in Sunnydale, that sort of place will give away a free table (even if you'd reserved it weeks ago) at the first opportunity; because you never knew just what sort of clientele might walk through your front door.

And whether you yourself might be on the menu later on, if you pissed off the wrong sort of patron.

Still, when Cordelia finally showed up, he knew it was definitely worth the wait. Because she was looking especially edible in her fancy blue dress, her new shoes and carefully styled (short) hair.

{ _Wow!_ } Xander thought dazedly. { _Oh, man, seventeen or otherwise – am I an evil, horrible person for wanting to yank Cordy into my bedroom right now, and fuck her brains out?_ }

"So, what do you think?" Cordy asked, pirouetting and taking gleeful note of the stunned, slack-jawed look on his face.

"I'm thinking thoughts I definitely shouldn't be, at least not right now," he muttered before saying in a louder voice, "You look incredible, Cor. Even more than you usually do."

"Thank you. Now let's get going, Doofus," Cordelia flashed him her best toothpaste commercial smile. "We don't want to be late for our reservations."

He nodded and escorted her out of the apartment, locking the front door before they headed downstairs to his Ford Taurus. Their time in the damaged car passed quickly before they arrived at Didier's; it was filled with idle chatter, and the sound of Cordelia's laughter over past embarrassments in the life of Alexander Lavelle Harris.

"Oh, God, I'd almost forgotten about that. You and that whole 'I wanna be a fireman' thing, when we were little kids," Cordelia chuckled, as they entered the restaurant.

"Hey, we were only six! And at the time I was majorly into reruns of that old TV show, _Code Red_ ," Xander smirked.

"Ahem! Can I help you?" the maitre'd asked, looking down his nose at the new arrivals. Then his eyes widened, as he examined Cordy more closely. "Sacré bleu!Mademoiselle Chase, is that you?"

"Hello, Jean-Michel. It's been a long time, hasn't it?" Cordelia said in a regal tone, one that would normally push all of Xander's buttons completely the wrong way. But they were here to celebrate his promotion at work, and so Xander forced himself to relax. So not the time for his inferiority issues to raise their ugly head.

"Oui, it certainly has," the maitre'd came over to her, ignoring Xander completely. "Too long, ma chérie. Shall I escort you to your old table? Any riff-raff present, I shall have them removed at once!"

"Thank you for the offer, but not tonight," Cordelia sent the man in the black tux a pleased smile. "We already have a reservation for eight o'clock, under the name of Harris."

Jean-Michel went to examine his book, and nodded quickly. "I shall have you seated in a moment. Pierre!" He snapped his fingers, and a waiter wearing a white shirt and black tie came rushing over. Jean-Michel spoke rapidly in his native language to the man, and then said to Cordelia in English, "He will escort you to your table, Mademoiselle. Welcome back to Didier's!"

Xander saw Cordelia nod graciously and walk off majestically, like she was finally back in her natural element. { _OK, that was kinda unexpected. Hang on, they're leaving without me!_ }

Harris quickly followed after them, managing to get to the table as the waiter placed two menus on the wooden surface. He quickly pulled out the chair for his dinner companion and then seated himself as Cordelia opened up the menu, and scanned its contents.

"Je commencerai par une soupe de légumes. Accompagné d'une bouteille de Cabernet Sauvignon, s'il vous plait," she said with a slight French accent, quickly putting the menu down.

"Rouge ou blanc?" the waiter inquired, taking note of Cordelia's request.

Cordelia looked at him as if he was retarded. "Rouge, bien sur."

"Immediatément," the waiter nodded sharply and turned to stare at Xander.

"Uh, I think I'll have the spinach entrée," Harris told him, after putting down the menu. The waiter made a note on his pad, muttered "Merci" and then departed with their order. Xander then looked at Cordelia and said, "I didn't know you spoke such good French, Cor."

"I've been coming to this restaurant with Mother and Daddy for years. Or, at least, I used to. It was either learn the language, or have the staff look down on you as an uncouth barbarian. And Mother wasn't going to stand for that, so my French and Italian lessons started early," the brunette explained rapidly. "Anyway, enough about that. Where were we?"

"Talking about the old days, mostly."

"Huh. Right. Remember that episode at the fairgrounds when we were eleven, how you bet me that you could win that stuffed dog at the shooting gallery, and you tried and tried and tried... "

"And then you smirked and stepped up, and won it on your first shot," Xander chuckled for a moment. "Pre-teen or not, my man card was in serious danger of being revoked that day!"

"Oh please," Cordelia brushed that aside, as the wine waiter arrived with their bottle of red. She examined it and said, "1973, a very good year. Please pass my thanks on to Jean-Michel for his generosity."

"Oui, mademoiselle," the Frenchman replied, as he expertly uncorked the bottle and poured a generous helping into their wineglasses. "Please enjoy." He then walked away.

"So, you were saying?" Xander asked Cordelia, as he sampled the wine. Not exactly big on the whole alcohol thing, and never had been – apart from the time he'd been drowning his sorrows after the failed wedding debacle. Still, he knew quality when he drank it. "Nice."

"It is," Cordelia nodded, taking a sip herself before getting back to the previous topic of conversation. "And I guess what I was saying is that one of the things I've always admired about you – even when I practically hated you, before we finally got together – is your refusal to give up. Not when it comes to something you really care about. You try and try and even though sometimes you fail, no one can ever say you didn't try your hardest to succeed. I think that's one of the things that made me start to fall in love with you, Dorkhead."

Xander was touched, and smiled at her. "That's very nice of you to say, Cordy. Y'know, it's kinda weird – but from the moment you came back into my life? Well, truth is, it's been ages since I've been this happy."

Cordelia sent him a long, penetrating, almost smoldering look, but said nothing.

"What? What is it? Because to quote you, honey, you have 'something' face," Xander said in minor consternation.

"Fine, just remember that you asked for it. 'Cause I was thinking that however happy I make you right now, it's _**nothing**_ compared to how happy you'll be... once we're officially back together," Cordelia said, before taking in his open-mouthed expression. "I need to go to the bathroom, Doof. And close your mouth before you catch flies."

Xander watched her get up and leave, before finally snapping his lips shut.

* * *

 _A few seconds later – restaurant bathroom, Didier's of Sunnydale; evening:_

Cordelia took a deep breath, heading for the bathroom mirror to wash her hands and check her makeup. She knew she was taking a big risk by putting herself out there for Xander this way – but damn it, the possible rewards were _**definitely**_ worth it. She hadn't forgotten the advice Aura had given her yesterday, and figured there was no point being 'coy' any longer.

Oh, sure, still seventeen, so to speak; but somehow, Cordelia was sure that even after her memories were restored, she wouldn't be changing her mind on just who was the object of her affections nowadays. If she had to – she'd briefly go back to L.A., grab all her stuff, then come back here and move in with Xander permanently. See how long he managed to resist her attempts at reconciliation, under _**those**_ circumstances...

"Hello, Cordelia."

She whirled around at the sound of that accented, female voice. "KENDRA?"

The image of the Caribbean Slayer merely smiled at her. And for some reason, straightaway, Cordelia knew something was wrong. Not that she and the mocha-skinned Chosen One had ever been close, the few times they'd interacted all those months ago (years ago, damn it!) – but she was Cordelia Chase, and her Hellmouth-trained instincts were screaming warnings really loudly at her right now.

"You're not Kendra," Cordy said accusingly, abruptly figuring out the truth. "You can't be; she's dead. Xander told me that himself. So who – or what – are you?"

The false image of Kendra raised her eyebrows sardonically. "Someone who needs ta talk wit' you... "

TBC…

* * *

A/N: Hope we got the French right, 'cause you really can't trust most online translations nowadays. And this was one of the hardest chapters of the story to write, to be honest with you. The Gunn/Fred relationship imploding (even without Wes present in this AU, that was kinda inevitable), Oz doing a real-life version of a Jedi Master in training, Faith contemplating the future, Dawn being a brat, Willow getting a clue before the First went too far, Buffy getting rid of Webs without all the undead psychoanalysis crap (seriously, did anybody other than us find that a little too farfetched to buy?), Spike killing that woman without saying a word on-screen, and Cordelia confronting the First Evil after going on a 'date' with Xander. Complicated, huh? Well, anyway, we hoped you liked it! Thanks heaps as always to everyone who's sent feedback and a review, and has stuck with the story so far. And no need to state what we're hoping you'll do next, right? :)


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

 _Tuesday, November 12, 2002 – Sunnydale High School, Sunnydale; night_ _:_

Andrew and Jonathan, now dressed entirely in black, descended down a rope from the ceiling skylight, landing in the new high school library. Jonathan landed safely, unhooked himself and looked around. Andrew, not quite as adept with the ropes as his partner, landed flat on his face and started moaning.

"Get up, you wuss," Levinson told him unsympathetically.

"I have shin splints." Andrew tried to get up, but failed. "Ow," he groaned.

Sighing in exasperation, Jonathan yanked him up to his feet. They then quickly exited the library, after fastening large black packs on their backs. Andrew brought out a map of the school and both of them grabbed their flashlights, as they began walking down the school corridor.

"Maybe we should go get Buffy," Jonathan said uncertainly, looking like he wanted to turn on the main lights in order to see properly.

"No way," Andrew disagreed at once.

Jonathan still looked unconvinced. "We should just tell her what we know about this evil Danzalthar thing."

Andrew said to his partner in no uncertain terms, "Think, McFly, think. Why would she believe us without any proof? We go to her empty-handed, and we'll be coolin' our heels in the clink in a Bell's microsecond!"

Levinson was quickly convinced to drop the idea, after hearing that. "I ain't goin' back to the big house. That place changes a man."

Andrew nodded. "That's why we need proof. So think of it as – as trial by fire. A quest."

"Una questa?"

He sighed. "We find it. We alert the Slayer. We help her destroy it. We save Sunnydale." They stopped walking as Andrew added, "Then we join her gang, and possibly hang out at her house."

Jonathan shrugged. "Right. OK. What do we do first?"

Andrew took a moment to think about it. "I think we should find the door to the basement, and work our way down from there."

Levinson replied, "OK, uh, um, uh, I'll go over there, and you go check down the hallway." He pointed right, before indicating that Andrew should go left.

Andrew then said, "Check communications?"

Still standing beside each other, both of them reached into the pockets of their cargo pants and pulled out walkie-talkie radios. The radios beeped once turned on. Jonathan said into his walkie-talkie, "Check. Check."

Andrew replied into his radio, even though Jonathan was right there and could easily hear him, "Check. Check."

"Check."

"Check. Check."

"Check. Check."

"Check. Check. Check."

"Check," Jonathan said, before they were _**finally**_ satisfied that their walkie-talkies actually worked. Both of them then nodded to each other, and went their separate ways.

Down the hall, Warren (or, at least, something that looked like him) came out from behind one of the school lockers and walked up to Andrew. "Nice job," the guy said admiringly.

Andrew looked at his not-so-secret crush with an expression of huge relief. "There you are. I'm scared out of my frickin' gourd here!"

Warren chuckled, briefly. "Take it easy. Take it easy."

Andrew wasn't willing to calm down so easily, though. "Do you have any idea how hard it's been to act this cool?"

"Calm down, you're doing great. All specs are within parameters," Warren replied reassuringly.

Andrew nonetheless whined, "You keep leaving me. I hate it when you leave me. Especially when you died, and I ended up in Mexico."

"We've been over this. Now, that death thing was all part of the master plan. Come on, 'If you strike me down... '" Warren trailed off.

Andrew did his best Obi-Wan Kenobi impression, "I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine." He giggled, once. "Of course. Do you think, maybe, Willow could kill me, too?"

Warren brushed the question aside. "Hey, don't worry about that. I mean, if the shortcake pulls off his end of the bargain, we'll all become gods."

Andrew turned to look down hall where Jonathan went, and did another Alec Guinness impression. "That boy is our last hope."

Warren walked forward to stand beside Andrew, doing a Yoda impersonation. "No, there is another."

Andrew looked at Warren in confusion. "Wait, really? Who's our last hope, then?"

Warren shook his head. "No, dude, I was just going with it. It was a thing. He really is our last hope."

* * *

 _Earlier that evening – bathroom of Didier's restaurant, Sunnydale; evening:_

Cordelia stared at 'Kendra' and said, "You need to talk to me? About what?"

The so-called Slayer didn't answer at first; she just came a few steps closer. "You don't remember, do ya? Ya don't remember what happened, de day I died."

Somewhat annoyed by the thick accent, Cordelia said, "No, guess I don't. So, if you're, like, a Ghost Girl now? Look for a light, and head towards it!"

"It's not dat simple," 'Kendra' replied, seemingly ignoring that. "It's all yer fault I died in dat school library, after all."

"WHAT? How the hell is it _**my**_ fault you ended up getting killed?!" Cordelia demanded angrily.

"Xander didn't mention dis, did he? If he hadn't been so concerned 'bout you 'n dat Willow girl, he could have – "

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, cutting 'Kendra' off mid-sentence. And after hearing details, Cordelia added, "Oh yeah? So my boyfriend's priority was me, instead of you? Well, _**obviously!**_ And besides, what about my pain? I'm the one who must have had to deal with having my outfit getting ruined after that attack, and my time with my boyfriend interrupted by your trauma! Seriously – couldn't the real you have gone and gotten killed on her own time, like, elsewhere, and left me out of it?"

'Kendra' looked taken aback for a moment by Cordelia's response. But then she focused again and said, "You, you, you. It's no wonder dat Xander cheated on ya wit' Willow, ya self-centered shrew, he musta wanted a real woman – one wit'out all yer vapid chit-chat – "

"SHUT UP about that!" Cordelia hissed, instantly upset.

'Kendra' sent her a malevolent smile, obviously sensing an opening. "Oh, I don't t'ink so. Has Xander mentioned all de t'ings ya said 'n did ta humiliate him back den, fer cheatin' on you? No, o' course he hasn't. De man didn't want to upset ya. Well, den, let me fill ya in on some of de more memorable highlights... "

The Kendra lookalike then said, using Cordelia's voice and accent, "It must be really hard when all your friends have, like, superpowers – Slayer, werewolf, witches, vampires – and you're, like, this little nothing. You must feel like Jimmy Olsen."

"I did _**not**_ say that!" Cordelia shouted hotly, glaring at 'Kendra.'

"Oh, yes, ya did. De truth is often more effective dan lies fer gettin' de message across, after all." 'Kendra' then continued imitating her voice, telling her, "'Integral part' of the group? Xander, you're the, the _**useless**_ part of the group. You're the Zeppo."

"Shut up."

"'Cool.' Look it up. It's something that a sub-literate that's repeated twelfth grade three times has, and you don't."

"I said, stop it!"

"There was no part of that that wasn't fun."

"I'm warning you-!" Cordelia abruptly rushed forward to try to rip the other woman's hair out, but unfortunately, her hands passed straight through the non-corporeal female form. "Damn it!"

'Kendra' just continued to smile malevolently. "Deep down, ya know it's true, don'tcha? Just like you know dat you don't belong here, not anymore. You just barged yer way into everyone's lives in dis town. Especially Xander's. But dat won't last long, will it? No, it won't. You'll be back on yer way to L.A. soon enough, ya will... "

'Kendra' abruptly morphed into the image of the long-dead Jenny Calendar. 'Jenny' then said, "Back to Angel and his friends. Back to the vampire that murdered me, and got away with it. I thought you actually had better sense, not to mention taste, than to become the best friend and confidant of that undead monster. But as my family used to say – those who rise up from the mud, sooner or later sink back into it. So I guess it's not too surprising that you turned out just like your step-mother. A gold-digger who cheated on her husband, as often as she could."

"SHUT UP!" Cordelia screamed, enraged by the comparison _**and**_ the slur against the woman who'd raised her.

'Jenny Calendar' instantly transformed into the image of Devon. "Seriously, babe, no need to get so upset. What's wrong? Oh, wait, now I get it – you like being blunt and tactless to other people, no matter how much it hurts them." He then smirked evilly. "But you can't take it when other people do it to you? Hypocritical, much?"

"You're not Devon. What are you?" Cordelia demanded heatedly.

But 'Devon' simply ignored her question. "Hrmm. Blunt, snarky, sarcastic, caustic, tactless. Reminds you of anyone? Oh, yeah, I believe her name's Anya. The new and improved girlfriend whom Harris started sleeping with, almost as soon as you had left the picture. You wanna hear some of the sweet nothings he used to whisper in her ear?"

"No, I DON'T!"

Smiling nastily 'Devon' then said, using Xander's voice, "I'm in love with you. Powerfully, painfully in love. The things you do... the way you think... the way you move... I get excited every time I'm about to see you. You make me feel like I've never felt before in my life. Like a man."

" _ **Shut the hell up!**_ " Cordelia yelled, feeling like this thing had just ripped open a hole in her heart and soul.

"Truth hurts, huh? So why don't you be a good little girl, and just go back to L.A. where you belong. You stay here, you're in for a whole _**world**_ of hurt. That much, I can promise you." With a brief flash of white light, 'Devon' vanished from sight.

"Oh... " Cordelia started to moan, when out of nowhere, a vision hit her with the force of a metaphysical freight train.

"Oh... " Cordy said again, her eyes going white – completely white, no pupils, and looking like slices of ping pong balls under her lids. And then she started glowing. And floating. Back arched, head thrown back, she rose roughly two inches off the ground as the visual images played out in her mind's eye...

 _An older-looking Jonathan Levinson and another guy in a basement somewhere, standing on top of a metal platform of some kind, with a goat's head etched onto it. The stranger comes over and puts his right hand on Jonathan's shoulder. Jonathan's eyes widen, as the guy stabs him with the knife in his left hand, directly in the belly. Jonathan looks stunned, and then collapses in agony..._

The white glow vanished like someone had flipped off a switch, and Cordelia's eyes abruptly went back to their normal hazel color, as the vision ended.

"Oh. Wow." Cordy shook her head, just before she fell back to the ground with a minor thump. She staggered a moment before saying to herself, "Oh, that, that was just... beyond freaky... "

Quickly pulling herself together, Cordelia managed to figure out what was going on. She knew that she'd become a Seer of some sort over the past three years; both Willow and Xander had told her that. And even though, deep in her heart, she couldn't really believe it before – she certainly did now.

{ _Don't freak out. Don't think about all the things that bitch -slash- bastard just told you. Just focus on the problem at hand, damn it!_ }

Quickly checking her appearance in the mirror, she strode out of the bathroom and back over to the dinner table where Xander was waiting for her. Cordelia said to him, "We've got to leave. Right now."

"Look, Cordy, if this is about you thinking I'm upset about the whole 'us' thing – " Xander started to say.

"No, you moron! This isn't about that!" She hauled him up out of the chair and said quietly, "I just had a vision in the bathroom."

"You had a _**what?**_ " Xander looked at her like she'd just grown another head or something.

"Don't look at me like that! Now come on." Cordelia literally dragged him away towards the front doors.

"Mademoiselle Chase? What's wrong?" the maitre'd named Jean-Michel asked in concern, as he took in the scene.

Cordy stopped in her tracks and told the Frenchman, "I'm sorry, but Xander and I have to go."

"But, mademoiselle, you haven't had time to even order the main course yet!"

"I know, but this is a matter of life and death. Jean-Michel, someone I know is going to die tonight, if Xander and I don't get there in time to stop it," Cordelia told him firmly, as Harris openly gaped at her.

"I see," the maitre'd nodded, instantly believing her. "And the police cannot handle this matter?"

"The Sunnydale PD?" Xander said automatically, the derision in his voice causing the Frenchman to stare at him. "And just how long have you been living in this town, pal?"

"We don't have time for this," Cordelia said, not giving the restaurant worker time to respond. "Xander, pay the man and let's get out of here!"

"OK," Xander shrugged, reaching for his wallet. "Even if neither of us actually ate anything... "

"Non, non, in that case – and if this truly is an emergency, as you say – then I will not hear of it," Jean-Michel responded, shaking his head. "Go, Mademoiselle Chase, do what you must. And come again soon, so that you and your gentleman friend here may have a proper meal at our establishment!"

"Merci, Jean-Michel," Cordelia flashed him a brilliant beauty queen smile, as she grabbed Xander's wrist and started to haul him away.

"Avec plaisir," the Frenchman told her, before snapping his fingers and giving orders to the head waiter to clear their table, and open it up for the next customer.

Outside, Xander suddenly dug in his heels and brought both her and himself to a grinding halt. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold it, sweetheart. We need to talk! And let's start with sixty-four million dollar question; what exactly did you see, when you had that vision thing?"

"I – wait. How much do you know about the visions I get?" she asked rapidly.

"Practically nothing," Harris shrugged. "You mentioned it to Willow way back when, and she's mentioned it to me and everyone else in the Scooby Gang. And sorry, but I don't know details – because, like I've said before, we haven't personally spoken for over three years."

That offhand remark was enough to remind Cordy yet again of the unpleasant conversation with that shape-changing, intangible _**thing**_ just now; but by sheer force of will, she shoved all that to the back of her mind and said urgently, "Well, it was pretty surreal. Like watching C-SPAN on acid, almost. But bottom line, I saw that nerd Jonathan get killed – "

"Jonathan? Jonathan Levinson? As in, that nerd we went to school with? The one you briefly dated, back in junior year?" Xander interrupted, looking surprised.

"Yeah, him. I saw him get murdered, Jonathan was stabbed with a knife by some guy with dark blond hair," Cordy said urgently.

"Andrew?" Xander guessed, and elaborated upon seeing Cordelia's confused expression, "Andrew Wells? Tucker's brother? The guy who was planning to attack Senior Prom with his hellhounds?"

"What? And who?"

"Uggh, damn it! I keep forgetting you don't remember anything past the end of junior year – and besides, even if you did... you probably never heard of the guy anyway, you've been away from the Hellmouth too long," Xander exhaled loudly. "Anyway, Andrew, Warren and Jonathan were all major pains in our asses last year. They had this whole super-villain shtick going, think Pinky and the Brain but without even half the panache. And in the end, Warren got flayed alive, and his two sidekicks skedaddled out of town. I thought we'd seen the last of them... "

"We're going to see the last of Jonathan pretty soon, if we don't hurry," Cordelia said warningly. "I'm not sure where they are, but it looked like a basement of some sort, and they were standing on top of a metal surface with a goat's head on it."

"Huh. Anything else?"

"No, not really. Except – I got the feeling the place was familiar, somehow. Like I'd been there before," Cordelia said slowly, trying to explain herself. "Which is kinda weird; I mean, it's not like I've spent a lot of time in other people's basements, or at least not that I can remember. I mean, there was that time we were trapped in Buffy's basement, but the place in my vision sure as hell didn't look like that! And about the only other basement I can think of I've spent any time in, is – "

"The high school," Xander said, cutting her off. This time he grabbed her hand, pulling her along with him to the car. "C'mon, let's go!"

* * *

 _A while later – Sunnydale High School basement, Sunnydale; night:_

Jonathan and Andrew were busy digging through the dirt floor. Something that Levinson knew was a total violation of numerous building codes, not to mention common sense. But having given up trying to understand it, he just grunted and said, "We almost got this thing uncovered. Finally."

"Yep," Andrew nodded.

Jonathan added musingly, "I hope Buffy'll know how to destroy it." He paused for a few moments. "36-19-27! That's it! That was my locker combination." He started digging again. "God, it's been bugging me all night."

"Dude, we spent the last few years attempting to forget all about high school. Why are you trying so hard to remember it now?" Andrew asked, looking perplexed and confused.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess I kinda miss it. Don't you?"

"Yeah, I really miss it," Andrew said sarcastically.

Jonathan stopped digging again. "No, I'm serious. I actually miss it. Time goes by, and all the bad stuff sorta just drops away." Andrew stopped digging as well, and looked at him in pure disbelief as he added, "All the cruelty, all the pain, all that humiliation. It all goes away, eventually. Lets me remember the good times, instead."

Andrew looked over his shoulder. But seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Jonathan continued his soliloquy, "I miss my friends. I miss my enemies. I miss the people I used to talk to every day. I miss the people who never even knew I existed. I miss 'em all. I actually want to talk to them, you know? I want to find out how they're doing. I want to know what's going on in their lives."

"Yeah, well, you know what? They don't wanna talk to you – all those people you just mentioned. Not one of them is sitting around going, 'I wonder what Jonathan's up to right now.' Not one of them cares about you," Andrew said huffily.

Jonathan shrugged. "Well, I still care about them. That's why I'm here."

He started digging again, and Andrew followed suit. The six-foot wide circular metal object containing the shape of an inverted pentagram, with a horned goat head symbol on it, soon became a lot more visible.

After finishing the job to his satisfaction, Jonathan started packing up his stuff. He then heard Andrew say, "Hey, Jonathan, can you come over here a sec?"

Confused, he walked over to his partner. "What? I mean, we uncovered the seal. It's time to go and get Buffy in on this."

"Yeah, but – " Andrew started to say, placing his right hand on Jonathan's shoulder.

"JONATHAN!" a woman's voice suddenly screamed out of nowhere. "GET DOWN!"

The loud roar of a gunshot echoed in the basement, and Jonathan instinctively dove for the basement floor – just as the knife Andrew was wielding failed to find its intended target.

"I-I missed!" Andrew said in panicked incredulity.

Jonathan saw Xander and Cordelia at the doorway, before Harris came running straight towards him. No, make that Andrew. With a short barreled pump-action twelve-gauge in his hands, pointed right at Andrew's heart. { _What the –_ }

"Drop the knife," Xander said menacingly. "Or I'll drop you."

"Now, now wait, it's not what you think, I-I-I was just – " Andrew started to babble in sheer panic.

 _ **WHAM!**_

The butt of the shotgun slammed directly into Andrew's face, knocking him down and out cold on the metal seal. Xander looked like he was in no mood for useless quips as he said, "Cordy?"

"Gimme." Cordelia accepted the shotgun from Xander, who then looked back down at Andrew's unconscious form.

Jonathan, still not sure what was going on, got up off the seal and looked around in Cordelia's direction – only to see the former cheerleader heading straight for him. "Uh... "

Cordelia shook her head, giving him a disgusted look. "You owe me your life, Dweeboid," she said contemptuously, before adding, "Jesus freaking Christ, Jonathan. Xander's told me everything. How _**could**_ you?"

"I... "

"That guy was gonna stab you to death, you complete waste of skin," Cordelia said scathingly, even as Xander began securing the unconscious Andrew's hands with some rope. "And from what I've heard, you might actually deserve it! I am _**so**_ disappointed in you, Jerk. To think, I actually dated you that one time. Jeez!"

"I know," Jonathan hung his head in shame, all but scuffing the ground with his foot. "Thank you, and – I'm sorry, Cordelia. I, I don't know what happened last year, really. It all just, kinda, got way out of control... "

"Shut the hell up. I'm not interested in hearing your excuses. Nobody is, not anymore," Xander cut in roughly. "Keep a close eye on him, honey, and if he tries to run for it – shoot him."

"No problem," Cordelia replied, and then raised an eyebrow at Jonathan's horrified look. "Oh, don't worry, I won't kill you. But I'm thinking you'll find it real hard to run if I blow off one or both of your kneecaps, Dumbass! So don't. Even. Think it."

Jonathan nodded furiously, like a bobble-head doll, as Xander lifted Andrew's body up into a fireman's carry. He noted that Harris was not making any effort to be gentle, and upon seeing Andrew's knife on the ground – it was about as long as a steak knife – Jonathan couldn't help getting mad. { _That son of a bitch, he was going to_ _ **kill**_ _me! I actually came this close to..._ }

"Uh... knife?" He pointed at the weapon in question, quickly calming down. "Not that I want it, but, um – we shouldn't just leave it here, right?"

"First _**smart**_ thing I've heard you say in ages," Xander grumbled, as he nodded to his former girlfriend, and she picked up the knife before putting it in her handbag. Harris then said, "Alright. So what are we gonna do with you, Jonathan? I swear, I'm tempted to simply take you in and let the cops throw you in jail all over again – "

"No! Wait, don't do that, at least – not yet," he said urgently. "I, I gotta talk to Buffy first."

"Buffy? Why?" Cordelia asked, suspiciously.

"The seal of Danzalthar," Jonathan said, pointing down to the metal platform. "That's why I came back; I couldn't take the nightmares anymore. Every night, Andrew and I had the same dream. About this, a-and that evil, nightmarish voice saying, 'Desde abajo te debora.' I, I dunno exactly what it means... "

"From beneath you it devours," Xander said impatiently. Off Cordelia's look, he added, "Two years of high school Spanish, Cor, some of it stuck. You're not the only one who can speak a foreign language, y'know."

She briefly stuck out her tongue at him before asking, "Seriously, Doofus, what do we do with these two idiots?"

"Buffy's house, for now," Xander quickly decided, redistributing Andrew's weight on his shoulders. "C'mon, let's go. You too, Jonathan, move it!"

* * *

 _A while later – 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale; night:_

Dawn stared around at her home, which looked like a war zone or earthquake disaster area or something. Nearly all the windows were smashed, ditto the TV and the stereo and the microwave. The lamps and pictures were all broken, and lying scattered on the floor. Broken glass and wrecked furniture was everywhere.

But Dawn wasn't thinking about all that right now. She was thinking of the heavenly appearance of her mother, Joyce, who had warned her that when things got bad... Buffy wouldn't choose her. Whatever that really meant.

Willow hurriedly came into the house, almost running through the front door. "Buffy?" she called out, before starting to go upstairs.

From the living room, Dawn answered, "She's not here." She was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, hugging a pillow amid all the destruction from earlier in the evening.

Willow rushed into the room, calling out, "Dawn? Oh my God!" The redhead ran to her side, panicked. "What're you – Dawn, what happened here? What – you're cut... "

She more or less brushed that aside. "I'm all right."

"Let me see, I wanna make sure." Willow turned Dawn's face side to side to inspect it carefully.

"I saw Mom," Dawn abruptly blurted out, causing the redhead to pause and look at her oddly. "She was here, Willow. I saw her. She was here, and she spoke to me."

"Oh, sweetie," Willow said sympathetically.

"No, don't automatically assume I'm wrong, or hallucinating, or whatever! I'm telling you, Willow, she was right here, and – and then she wasn't. She – "

"I believe you. But it wasn't her," the witch interrupted, moving back from her.

"What?"

"At least, I'm pretty sure it wasn't. I, I encountered something tonight as well, and it looked like... someone else, but it wasn't really her," Willow tried to explain.

"I don't understand," Dawn said in confusion.

"It was the First Evil, Dawn. It came to me tonight at the Magic Box, looking like that Cassie Newton girl. And Warren, too – briefly. Looks like it's not just targeting Buffy any longer! So I'm thinking odds are that's what you saw, when you thought you were seeing Joyce," Willow told her, which made Dawn freeze in horror.

"So, so if that wasn't really my mom... maybe that invisible demon thing which was also here, it was actually trying to protect me from the First?" she asked, completely confused now. "I don't know anymore, I just... "

"Invisible demon thing?" Willow asked, her interest piqued.

"Yeah, it was just... I did this banishing ritual, kinda kicked its ass," Dawn said, looking somewhat embarrassed. "Which explains the current state of the house."

"Go you, Dawnie!" Willow smiled at her. "Things really are something of a mess around here, though."

"Can you fix it? 'Cause I don't think we're gonna be able to afford the cost of repairs, not on Buffy's salary," Dawn said pragmatically.

Willow hesitated before saying, "Uh, maybe we can get Xander to – "

"NO! We've _**got**_ to stop depending on him for stuff like that," Dawn said firmly, cutting Willow off at once. "I mean, I know he doesn't mind helping out – but it's _**not**_ Xander's job to always fix the damage around here, every time something invades the house! He won't admit it, but it costs him both time and money – and Buffy is taking his services for granted way too much, nowadays. Besides, he's all busy with Cordelia right now. And I'd prefer not seeing her again, until she gets her memories back and returns to normal!"

Willow nodded silently before she muttered a short phrase in Japanese, and a giant wave of magic passed through the entire house. Reality shimmered, briefly – and once it had passed, all the damage was gone. Doors and windows intact, furniture fixed, all the rubbish on the living room floor vanished.

Only problem was, Willow's eyes were now completely black.

Dawn noticed it, and moved back at once as her friend started breathing heavily. She stayed silent as the witch tried to regain some semblance of self-control. They both knew how she'd already had enough of Black Magic Willow's threats to last a lifetime, after all.

Slowly, the black color bled away and Willow's normal sea-green orbs returned. The redhead heaved a sigh of relief and said, "Sorry about that, Dawnie, I just – "

"I know. It's OK. No explanations required," Dawn interrupted. "I was kinda expecting it, anyway. And I wouldn't have asked you to do it, if I thought you couldn't handle it."

{ _Well, I_ _ **hoped**_ _you'd be able to handle it, anyway,_ } Dawn thought to herself with a sigh, as Willow collapsed onto the couch. { _But then again, that's pretty much par for the course around here, isn't it? Hope for the best, but expect the worst..._ }

Both of them heard a knock on the front door, and Willow got up and went to answer it. "Who's there?"

"Will, it's me, Xander. Open up, we got prisoners and everything!"

Confused, Willow opened the door – and straightaway, Xander came inside with a male body draped across his shoulders. She was shocked to recognize Andrew's face, and equally shocked to recognize Jonathan too, as Cordelia escorted him inside at gunpoint. "What the-?"

"High school basement, attempted murder, vision thing – it's all kinda complicated," Cordelia replied succinctly, gesturing with the shotgun for Jonathan to sit down on the couch. "Sit. And stay, Twerp."

"So, why'd you bring them here?" Dawn asked, not looking at the former May Queen.

"My apartment wasn't exactly an option, not with all the security cameras outside the building, and it's nearly midnight; I figure Ahn musta locked up the Magic Box and gone home ages ago," Xander grunted, before dumping Andrew onto the couch next to Jonathan. He then went to get a chair, in order to tie Wells securely to it.

At that moment, Buffy dashed in through the front door, and took in the unexpected sight of Andrew and Jonathan on her couch. She blinked and said, "OK, what'd I miss?"

"Lemme see. I had a vision of Jonathan here getting stabbed by that Andrew guy, and Xander and I barely stopped it in time at the new high school," Cordelia said brightly.

"I got a visit from the First Evil, it was pretending to be that Cassie Newton girl," Willow shrugged.

"The house got trashed, I had a vision of Mom, Willow fixed all the damage just now; and then just about everyone shows up here like it's Grand Central Station, or something," Dawn reported.

"So how was your night, Buff?" Xander asked, as he finished tying Andrew up securely.

"Vampire. Guy named Holden Webster – " Buffy started to say.

"Webs?" Willow, Xander and Cordelia all said at the same time, a surprised look on their faces.

"Jeez, did _**everybody**_ know this guy in high school except me?" Buffy asked crossly, before calming down. "Anyway, before I dusted him, he said Spike was his sire."

"WHAT?" everybody said in disbelief, except for Cordelia.

"I _**knew**_ it! I just knew that that guy was tricking you all!" she crowed triumphantly. Then Cordy stared at Buffy. "All right, what's the plan? How can we help in tracking him down and staking his evil ass?"

"No, wait," Buffy shook her head, looking unwilling to agree to that. "I mean, all we have so far is that Webster guy's word for it. I mean, Spike _**can't**_ be the one who turned him. He couldn't have, even if he wanted to!"

Cordelia frowned. "Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, that chip in his head? Like I told you last night, Spike can't hurt anybody any longer," Buffy said hastily.

"He can hurt you," Xander said bluntly, and Dawn didn't like how that caused her big sister to look away immediately. Then Harris added, "Hey, sorry, Slay-gal; but you know it's true, no point tryin' to deny it. Could be that Spike's chip isn't working at all, not any longer."

"No, it's working. I've seen it," Buffy said insistently.

"Have you? Or is that just what you want to believe? Or what _**Spike**_ wants you to believe?" Cordelia asked Big Sis challengingly. Then Xander's ex said, "Tell me something, Buffy – are you really willing to risk people getting killed, just so you can cling to your pathetic belief that Spike can be 'redeemed'? Like I remember you doing for Angel -slash- Angelus, recently? Newsflash, but they're _**vampires!**_ Soul, chip, whatever; that doesn't change what they are. Namely, a bloodsucking demon. And if Spike _**is**_ killing people, and you don't do anything to stop it? In my book, that's called being an accessory to murder."

"Why, you-!"

The inevitable loud argument began, as Xander sighed to himself and sat down in the lounge chair opposite her. As the screaming and yelling grew louder, Dawn leaned over and asked her former crush, "Want some Mountain Dew? I figure, this is gonna take a while... "

* * *

 _Wednesday, November 13, 2002 – 634 Hoffman Terrace, Sunnydale; not long after midnight:_

Upstairs, the house was empty and silent. But down in the basement, things were definitely happening.

Spike was humming a song to himself, digging a hole in the basement floor – which, again, in defiance of various building codes and ordinary common sense, was just plain dirt. The British vampire stopped, dusted off his hands and looked down at the young woman he'd killed earlier in the evening. He hoisted her up by the jacket collar, looked her in the face, and callously threw her into the shallow grave. He then buried her, still humming the song from before.

The First Evil, still looking like Spike, laughed and sang along in time with the humming. "Early one morning, just as the sun was rising, I heard the fair maid sing in the valley down below. Oh, don't deceive me. Oh never leave me." It/he sat on the basement stairs. "How could you use a poor maid so?"

* * *

 _A while later – the same place; night:_

Amy and Whistler appeared out of the shadows, and the young witch shuddered in loathing as she stared at the dirt floor – which, she could sense, was full of buried bodies.

"So. The First Evil really did it, huh? Just like you said it would. It turned that Spike guy into a killer again," Amy said, gesturing at the floor. "How many people are buried here, anyway?"

"Ten," Whistler said solemnly, staring down at the floor. "And the way things would have worked out originally, William the Bloody woulda brought the blondie Slayer here – and they would have attacked her, after the First activated that vampire's trigger. Nasty stuff."

"Yeah. I mean, I may not like Buffy much any longer, but death by vampire? Can't think of many worse ways to go than that," Amy shuddered again.

"Oh, they wouldn't have killed her. Woulda come close, sure, but she'd have won using that stuff," Whistler gestured to the various garden tools with wooden handles nearby.

"This is all part of that precog thing you can do, isn't it? Kinda like what we did in Los Angeles yesterday, making sure Xander didn't get that transfer out of Sunnydale?" Amy asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yup," the Messenger sighed. "And before you ask, kid, we couldn't upset the balance that much by saving all these poor slobs buried underneath us. It was their time, and besides – according to the new game plan, grisly as it sounds... they _**needed**_ to die."

"I'm pretty sure I don't want to know what that means. So please, don't even try to explain," Amy said hastily. "Anyway, why exactly are we here?"

"Well, one, I figured you could use a break from distracting good ol' Skippy, the way you've been doing lately. And two, clean-up detail, since the Slayer ain't gonna be coming here anymore; best as I can tell, anyway," Whistler said reflectively. "Go ahead, kid; you know what to do."

Shrugging, Amy raised her hands and cast a spell that raised all ten corpses out of the earth, and then she chanted: "Incindere!"

The bodies immediately burst into flames, before the ashy remains floated down to the basement floor.

TBC...

* * *

A/N: Well, we're definitely done with _Conversations With Dead People,_ and into _Sleeper_ territory now. What did everyone think of that episode, by the way? In our view, there were some gaping plot holes - but the most amusing part was Anya psyching herself up to have sex with Spike, and then constantly pouting after he rejected her and hurt her feelings! And spoiler alert, but that almost certainly won't be happening in this AU. So the only thing left to say is thank ye kindly to everyone for reading and reviewing the story, and please keep the feedback and critique coming!


	21. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Twenty**

 _Tuesday, November 12, 2002 – 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale; night:_

Xander remained silent as Andrew woke up, after a glass of water was thrown directly into the nerd's face.

His hands felt itchy, and Harris had to force himself not to clench his fists together. The shotgun was now back inside the trunk of his car; he knew better than anyone Buffy's attitude towards guns, and the last thing he wanted was to have buy a new twelve-gauge after the Slayer twisted the barrel out of shape, just because she was upset about Spike. Still, Xander figured it was all psychosomatic and he could make do without that particular weapon – for now. { _Kinda doubt either Jonathan or Andrew will try anything with Slay-gal present, anyway._ }

Spluttering and shaking his head, Andrew tried to move – but found himself securely tied to the chair. The geek then froze in place, as he saw Jonathan glaring at him – not to mention everyone else. "Uh... "

"You tried to kill me. Why?" Levinson demanded, as everyone nodded; wanting to know the answer to that one themselves.

"I, um, I didn't want to kill you. But Warren, he-he convinced me to do it," Andrew said whiningly.

"Warren?!" just about everybody exclaimed.

"Yeah, he's around. That whole death thing, that was all part of his master plan," Andrew said rapidly. "Y'know, he, uh, he's kinda like my Obi-Wan now. And, and he's been working on a plan that would make all three of us gods!" he added fervently, looking at his former partner in crime.

"You were going to make me a god... by killing me?!" Jonathan asked, looking utterly flabbergasted.

"OK, I've heard some insane troll logic in my life – some of it literally from a huge-ass troll – but _**this**_ has gotta take the cake," Xander said, shaking his head.

"Hold it. You were gonna stab Jonathan with this," Cordelia said, bringing out the sacrificial knife from her handbag. "So, what exactly was in it for you?"

"Warren said Jonathan's blood was gonna be a powerful tribute. It's a, a gift to something very big, very important. And afterwards, we get a reward. All three of us," Andrew said desperately, trying to be convincing.

"I get a reward? After you murder me?" Jonathan said in disbelief. "Seriously, Andrew, are you totally tripping or what?"

"A reward? What reward?" Dawn asked, curiously.

"I already told you, we get to live as gods," Andrew replied, ignoring Jonathan's question.

"Oh, jeez, will you knock it off with that whole 'god' stuff? Because I've _**met**_ an actual god – well, hellgod, but same diff – and no way could you ever qualify as Glory's equal!" Dawn replied scornfully.

"Dawn... " Buffy abruptly glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "Oh my God – it's practically midnight, and you have school tomorrow. You need to head upstairs to your room right now, and go to sleep!"

"Go to _**sleep?!**_ After everything that's happened tonight?" the young woman demanded, looking exasperated with her sister. "Buffy, are you totally delusional? Or has all that hair dye finally leached into your brain?"

"Actually, Dawnie, she's got a point," Xander said, instantly making the dark-haired girl look at him with an expression of pure betrayal on her face. "And please don't look at me like that, OK? I've got a big day at work tomorrow, so _**I**_ need to go home and get some sleep as well. Nobody's trying to get rid of you, because they think you're a kid who shouldn't be part of all this... it's just, well, it's not your job to get to the bottom of what this chowderhead was thinking, when he tried to kill Jonathan here. So please, go upstairs and try to grab some shut-eye? For me?"

Dawn pouted and glared ineffectually at him, but then she sighed and nodded in agreement. "All right, fine." Xander could see that Dawn really was exhausted; the house exploding all around her, being attacked by that invisible demon and the conversation with the First Evil – or whoever -slash- whatever 'Joyce' had really been – had drained the poor kid almost completely. "G'night, everybody."

"Good night," everyone apart from Jonathan and Andrew replied, as Dawn walked over to the stairs and headed up to her room.

"Thank you, Xander," Buffy gave him a heartfelt smile.

"Any time, Buff."

"OK, so what now?" Cordelia asked. She didn't exactly look happy, and Xander knew the scream-fest with Buffy a short while earlier had put his former girlfriend in a truly foul mood.

"We could always put Willow to work on getting the full truth outta both of these clowns," Harris suggested with a slight smirk.

"No! You can't. Please, Darth Rosenberg, don't kill me! Don't torture me, a-and send me to an eternal pain dimension!" Andrew instantly begged the redhead.

"I'm not gonna – " Willow started to say.

"Because Warren killed Tara, I didn't do it. And he was aiming for Buffy, anyway!" Andrew babbled in near-hysteria, interrupting her.

"Not helping your case, mister!" Willow glared at the asshole at once for that, as did Xander, Buffy and Cordelia.

"Andrew? Shut the hell up," Jonathan ordered his former friend in no uncertain terms. The nerd then turned to stare at the Slayer and said, "Look, Buffy, the plan was for us to dig up the seal of Danzalthar, and then take you to see it. To help us destroy it. Or, at least, that's what I _**thought**_ the plan was," the guy added self-consciously, shooting Andrew a poisonous look of hatred; making the captive nerd quickly look away in shame. "I promise you, for whatever it's worth, that's _**all**_ I came back here for."

Buffy sent Levinson a look of weary disgust. "And your word should mean anything to me any longer, why?"

"No reason I can think of, I guess," Jonathan replied, briefly scratching the back of his neck. "Except that Cordelia saved my life, after she got that vision from those, uh, higher powers? Been meaning to thank you for that, by the way," the guy added in her direction.

"I don't want your thanks," the Seer told Levinson, looking annoyed. "It's enough that you owe me your life, like for _ever_."

"All right, maybe – just _**maybe**_ – Jonathan here isn't a card-carrying black hat anymore. But that idjit sure as hell is," Xander said grumpily, gesturing at Andrew. "So, what do you guys think? We keep him here as a prisoner? Or just haul his ass straight to the police?"

"No! You, you can't do that! Please, don't!" Andrew begged pitifully. "I, I don't wanna go to the big house!"

"Maybe you shoulda thought of that _**before**_ you tried to kill me in cold blood, just because Warren told you to do it," Levinson told him contemptuously.

"Warren? The dead guy who Willow flayed alive last year?" Cordelia looked askance at the witch in question.

"Yeah," the Willster said quietly. "The First briefly looked like him as well as that Cassie Newton girl, earlier tonight, before it vanished."

"Right... wait, hang on. Dawn said that she spoke with her mom... and Willow, you talked with those two people... and I had a chat with Kendra, Ms. Calendar and Devon in that restaurant bathroom earlier tonight... " Cordelia trailed off.

"WHAT?!" Xander yelped.

"You chatted with who?" Andrew asked, but everyone ignored him.

"Yeah, lot of conversations with dead people been taking place this evening, like obviously. But my point is Willow's pretty sure she was talking with that First Evil thing, so – the odds are that _**that**_ is what's been appearing to everyone tonight, isn't it? Even him," Cordy gestured at Andrew, who was gazing at her in pure shock.

"What? But – no, that can't be right. It just can't be!" Andrew vigorously shook his head in denial.

"Why not? I mean, what's easier to believe – that you're a gullible moron, one who thought Warren let himself get killed as part of his master plan, and so you let yourself be manipulated by the First... or else that stone-cold killer of women somehow managed to escape from Hell, just to get you to stab a nobody like Jonathan here?" Xander asked derisively, ignoring the look on Levinson's face. He then looked around and said loudly, "Hey, Warren – you hangin' around, listening to us talking? Show your ghostly ass, if you are!"

Silence. "Satisfied?" he asked Wells in contempt.

"It's not true! It can't be!" Andrew insisted, desperately.

"Does it really matter, either way? 'Cause in case you didn't notice, you _**failed**_ to kill me," Jonathan told Andrew, and everyone could see the look of apprehension and concern appear on the other nerd's face. "Think about it, Andrew; what usually happens to the bad guy's minion, after he screws up his evil orders?"

"Same thing that happens to a _Star Trek_ red shirt, he becomes expendable," Xander said, smirking.

"What?" Andrew whispered in horror.

"OK, that's it. I dunno about the rest of you – but it's late, and I can't deal with any more of this tonight," Cordelia suddenly declared, as everyone looked at her. She stared at him and added, "We should go home. Like you said, Doofus, you need your sleep in order to be able to function tomorrow – what with the unexpected promotion 'n all."

"Promotion?" Willow and Buffy echoed at once.

"Yeah, I got a raise and everything at work, earlier today," Xander nodded, checking his watch again.

"Oh, Xander, that's great! Congratulations," Willow smiled at him, looking proud of and happy for him.

"Yeah, you done good, Xan," Buffy said, before quickly shifting her attention back to Jonathan. "So, what do I do with you for the rest of tonight?" She turned back to him, and opened her mouth –

"No," Xander said at once, not giving the Slayer a chance to speak.

"Oh, hell, yeah – Jonathan's _**not**_ staying with us! We only just got rid of Spike – so you're not gonna put someone else in Xander's apartment, simply 'cause it's convenient for _**you**_ ," Cordelia backed him up at once.

Buffy sent her an annoyed look, which slid off his ex-girlfriend like water off a duck's back. "So what's the alternative?"

"Why don't we just lock him up in the basement? I mean, Spike already set up a cot for himself down there last night," Willow shrugged.

"I'm OK with that," Jonathan nodded, somewhat surprisingly. "I mean, as long as it's not a Sunnydale PD jail cell, I'm happy."

"And him?" Cordelia gestured to Andrew, after Buffy nodded her head in agreement regarding Levinson's sleeping arrangements.

"The current arrangement works for me," the Slayer shrugged.

"Wait – you're, you're not gonna leave me tied up here all night, are you?" Andrew asked in dismay.

"Why not? Because it's either that, or jail. I mean, you don't want to be locked up in the basement along with Jonathan here, do you?" Buffy asked the guy, smirking a little. "Because, hey, I really don't like your odds of survival if you choose Door Number Two."

"Uh, on second thoughts... I'm fine here. As long as you let me get up to pee first, of course, assuming you don't want me making a mess all over the carpet," Andrew said semi-apologetically.

"And on _**that**_ visual, we are so outta here," Cordelia said in disgust, taking hold of Xander's left upper arm.

"Wait, one last thing. Buffy? What's the what with regard to Spike? If he _**is**_ killing people again, I mean," Xander asked, looking at the Slayer.

"I – tomorrow. I'll make a decision about that tomorrow, all right? Just – lemme sleep on it," Buffy said tiredly.

"Sure, you sleep on it – while that guy's out there somewhere, probably slaughtering people right now," Cordelia muttered angrily to herself, before pulling Xander towards the door. She ignored Buffy's irate look and Willow's sad one, saying, "Come on, Dweeb. Let's motor."

"See you guys tomorrow," Xander said hastily, before Cordelia yanked him out the front door. "Uh... "

They quickly headed towards Xander's burgundy and silver Taurus, before he stopped dead in his tracks. "Hey, wait a minute. Cordy, stop!"

"What is it?" she asked impatiently.

Xander took a quick look around, and upon deciding that an empty Sunnydale street at night wasn't the best place for them to have this conversation, quickly decided to get into the car after all. As soon as Cordy got into the front passenger seat, he said, "What's wrong?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You're upset, and it's not just about how Spike might be killing people again," Xander said firmly. "Seriously, Cor, what's the real problem? Because you've been kinda pissed since... well, practically since the moment we left that French restaurant. If not earlier."

The Chase woman exhaled loudly, slumping into her seat. "I have, haven't I? I mean, I _**know**_ it's stupid, but I simply can't help it. Honestly, Xander, I know it's not actually your fault... but I can't help feeling like it is. And that annoys the crap out of me."

"Huh?"

"I mean, I knew you were in a committed relationship with that Anya woman, and had been for a long time. You told me how you two met during high school; and I knew that things had gotten bad between us during senior year, after the breakup. Really bad." She sighed. "I just... I guess I wasn't expecting to hear all the ugly details, and all at once, earlier tonight."

Xander made the connection amazingly fast. "The First told you stuff about me? About us? About me and Ahn?"

"Yeah. It used my voice, while it was looking like Kendra. Guess I really did call you the Zeppo of the group, huh?" Cordy asked forlornly, as Xander stiffened for a moment. "And you really did tell Anya that she made you feel like a real man – something that, apparently, I never did."

"That's all true about the Zeppo thing, Cor, but in case you didn't know – Zeppo Marx? Even though he wasn't featured in many of the movies, he was actually considered one of the most valuable members of the group – and he later branched out on his own, eventually becoming a millionaire. So way I see it now, you actually paid me a compliment back then," Xander told her reassuringly, determined to nip this pity party in the bud right now.

"Oh. Huh. And the other part?"

"You mean, me and Anya? Yeah, I said that to her – but Cordy, nowadays that bridge is not only burned, it's also blowed up, nuked, and the radioactive ashes scattered to the four winds. Besides... it's only been forty-eight hours and change, but somehow, you've made me feel like more of a man than I've been for nearly a year," he told her fervently, so much so that it looked like she couldn't help but believe him. "And if you wanna take my advice – don't listen to a word that damn thing told you, earlier tonight. I'm guessing the First was able to lie with the truth, but you're Cordelia Chase – and you don't take crap like that from anybody. Right?"

"Yeah, you're right. I _**am**_ Cordelia Chase, and I _**don't**_ take that from anyone. So, no way I'm gonna start now!" She abruptly grabbed him into a big hug, yanking him close before letting go. "Thank you for reminding me of that, Doofus, I knew there was a reason I kept you around. Now, let's go home!"

"Yes, dear," Xander smirked at her, before starting the engine. "Buckle up, though, there's a good girl... "

He easily ducked the automatic dope-slap. { _Ah, that's my Cordy._ _ **So**_ _glad she's back!_ }

* * *

 _Wednesday, November 13, 2002 – Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; not long after midnight:_

Downstairs in the lobby, the hotel was empty and quiet. But upstairs, that was not the case. As he prowled the corridors, Connor could tell that the inhabitants of the Hyperion were not asleep...

For example, Lorne was busy talking to someone on the new cell phone which the demon had bought earlier today – no, yesterday, technically speaking. He heard the green-skinned creature babbling away through the thin walls, something about rescheduling meetings with his clients until after Angel and Cordelia were found. He dismissed that from his mind; Connor figured his... acquaintance... was more or less useless, anyway. His so-called ability to read people's destinies hadn't helped them find the missing members of the group, no matter _**who**_ sang for him.

(Privately, Connor thought that he'd heard far more than he ever needed to of Fred's favorite song, _The Yellow Rose of Texas_. But he kept that thought to himself. He understood the concept of not needing to make a woman so mad she couldn't think straight, unless it was absolutely necessary.)

He passed by Gunn's room, and heard the man talking to himself, wondering how the hell his life had turned completely to shit lately. Again, Connor dismissed that from consideration. He didn't care what sort of emotional state the black man was in, as long as it didn't compromise his ability to help in the search for Cordelia and Angel.

(Again, privately, Connor rather envied Gunn's ability to focus when the excrement hit the rotating blades, to borrow a phrase he'd learned a few months ago. But that, too, was something he kept to himself. To his mind, there was no point or need to give Fred's boyfriend – maybe former boyfriend, now – any sort of ego boost.)

He ignored Wesley's old room, and the noise of a squeaking rat in there. The man had instantly abandoned the group earlier tonight, and thus – to Connor's way of looking at things – he was not worth even a moment's consideration any longer. Kate Lockley, who had gone home for the night, not so much; well, as long as she kept being useful, anyway.

A few moments later, just as he was walking past Fred's room, the petite brunette entered the corridor and almost bumped into him. "Oh! You startled me," she said, taking a step back.

Connor stopped, and stared at her. "Why? You must have heard me coming down the corridor."

"Uh, no, guess I was distracted – hey, wait. Connor, what are you doing up at this time of night?"

He shrugged. "Could ask you the same question."

Fred looked away. "I can't sleep. I'm not only worried about Angel and Cordy, it... it feels weird not having Charles in my bed tonight."

Connor nodded. "You two aren't together now."

"Hey!" she replied, defensively. "I didn't say that – "

"You didn't have to," Connor interrupted. "I'm not blind. And even though it's none of my business, don't think I haven't seen what's been going on between you two lately. The bond you previously shared, it simply isn't there any longer."

Fred glared at him. "Thank you, Sigmund Freud!"

"I don't know what exactly that's supposed to mean, but if it was an insult, it wasn't very effective. You should stick to using that taser; it gets the message across much better," Connor replied emotionlessly.

"Look, Connor... " she trailed off unhappily. "The truth is, I'm not exactly happy you're back here, OK? 'Cause right or wrong, in my view, you betrayed us all doing what you did to Angel. I get that you had your reasons for it – you thought he'd killed Holtz 'n all – but still, that doesn't excuse what you did. And maybe I did overreact somewhat that night Wesley raised your father out of the ocean, but I – "

"It's interesting you should mention Wesley," Connor interrupted, staring at her intensely. "Because the way I heard it, he saved your life when Gunn went to him for help – after you were infected by one of those Sluk demons I chased out of Quor-toth, way back when. And yet there was no forgiveness, no gratitude on your part? What does that say about you, I wonder?"

"Hey, I was grateful!" Fred screeched, looking annoyed.

"Really. And how did you express that gratitude? Don't forget, I was here; I heard you say insulting things about the man last summer, and more than once," Connor said calmly. "So, what you were saying just now – how Holtz and Justine tricking me into thinking Angel murdered him, that didn't excuse my actions afterwards. I'd like to know – how do you excuse your actions, where your former friend is concerned? How does what you did make you better than me? Because nobody tricked _**you**_ about anything."

"That, that's – not the same thing," Fred replied weakly, looking away from him.

"Hypocrisy. My fa- Holtz taught me about that. So don't assume that I'm ignorant, or that I don't understand how this world works any longer," Connor told her forcefully. "By the way; did you know that Wesley never gave me to Holtz like you people thought he did, back when I was a baby?"

"WHAT?!" The Texan woman looked like she couldn't believe what she'd just heard.

"It's true. Justine actually boasted once how she managed to 'rescue' me from that man, just before Holtz took me to Quor-toth," Connor shrugged. "Not that it really matters any longer, but there was no... what's the appropriate phrase? Collusion with the enemy, I think you once called it?"

Fred looked visibly distraught and confused. "But, but Lorne said he read Wesley that night, he... he'd been meeting secretly with Holtz – "

Immediately, Connor snorted. "Not that I have much faith in that demon's abilities, if any, but even if that's true – did you ever ask Wesley what those meetings were about?"

"Well, no, I-I just assumed... "

"Obviously. You're a fool," Connor told her harshly. "A genius about some things, granted; but nonetheless, someone who's easily tricked, and too eager to judge other people for their mistakes. And once I find Cordelia and restore her memory with that elixir, hopefully, we'll never have to see you again. Or any of the others here – "

"You're the one who's being a fool now," Fred cut him off, mercilessly. "Cordelia is Angel's Seer, his connection to the Powers That Be. He's their Champion and she's their conduit, remember? And no matter how much you hate it, Connor – that bond isn't something you're going to break. _**Ever**_ **.** If you think you're gonna take Cordy away from us, somehow... convince her to stay away from Angel for her own good, or whatever? Never gonna happen. The visions of people in trouble which she gets will see to that. And if you're even half as smart as I think you are, you'll know that I'm right."

Connor glared at her, before striding away down the corridor. He was way too pissed to stay in the hotel any longer, and quickly went downstairs and left the building – before realizing he had nowhere else to go right now, the home he'd been sharing with Cordelia in that museum attic no longer existed.

Staring up at the black, star-studded sky, he let loose with a primal roar of rage, angst and teenage frustration.

* * *

 _Many hours later – Poling Springs, Idaho; morning:_

Groo walked through the outskirts of town, carefully examining his surroundings and making sure there was no immediate danger to his person. There was almost certainly no such thing, given who and what he was; but Groo knew that it was unwise to take unnecessary risks whenever one entered unfamiliar territory. Relaxing somewhat, he began to look around for the nearest tavern in order to quench his thirst –

"Hey there."

Groo whirled around, unable to believe that someone had actually managed to sneak up on him. Withdrawing the massive sword from the scabbard on his back in almost the blink of an eye, he faced his potential adversary warily. "Who are you, stranger?"

The brown-haired young woman shrugged. "Name's Amy Madison."

Groo nodded, but didn't lower his weapon completely. "I am the Groosalugg. Although my friends call me Groo, for short."

"Yeah, I know. You're the guy that Cordelia fell in love with when she ended up in that Pylea place, way back when," Amy nodded. "And before you ask, the reason I'm here – things are happening, and they're happening a bit quicker than we initially thought they would."

"Who is 'we'?" Groo asked, before slowly returning the sword to its scabbard. He suspected this woman meant him no harm, and even if he was wrong, Groo was now confident his unarmed combat skills were enough to handle the situation.

"You met him a while ago in that demon bar," the female said, coming closer. "His name's Whistler, or at least that's what he calls himself. Apparently, you've got to be a dolphin – or something like that – to be able to pronounce his real name properly. Or so he told me, anyway."

Groo nodded. He was about to ask whether this woman knew anything about the new destiny which the Cahair Binse had promised him, when he suddenly changed his mind and said, "You are Demon Whistler's associate, his partner?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Well, assistant anyway. And he told me how you need to get to the California Hellmouth to help protect Cordelia; but there's one, uh... pit stop you need to make first."

"What is this 'pit stop' you are referring to, Amy Madison?" Groo asked curiously.

"Well, there's a certain Vampire Slayer who's recently been recruited to take part in the fight against the First Evil," Amy said carefully. "Never met her myself, I don't think – or if we were introduced back in high school, it was only briefly and I honestly don't remember it, nowadays. But unfortunately, she's been targeted, and needs a hand out of a certain situation that's coming up soon. And that's where _**you**_ come in."

"A Vampire Slayer? Yes, I know what they are. My Princess and the Champion Angel spoke of them to me on occasion," Groo frowned. "Very well. Where is this 'situation' taking place?"

Amy sighed. "Northern California. Place called Stockton, or close enough to it. And before you ask, it's taking place today – "

At once, Groo shook his head. "If that is the case, then I fear I cannot help. That kingdom is many days' travel from here, either walking or on horseback."

"I know, that's why I'm here," Amy said, somewhat apologetically. "See, I'm a witch. That's how I can get you where and when you need to be, but you have to grab hold of my hands and brace yourself for something, well... unpleasant."

Frowning, Groo debated with himself for a few moments before doing what Amy Madison asked. And immediately, the world around him _**changed**_.

Groo found himself in some sort of limbo, a vacuum of nothingness: no sound, no light, just a dull grey void that formed no boundary and met no horizon. No heat, yet no cold either. Simply... nothingness. But eventually, Groo started to hear a loud _**shushing**_ noise, and then –

Groo blinked, finding himself on a deserted road, alone – with the sun directly overhead in the sky. { _What happened? It was mid-morning, barely moments ago –_ }

The sound of a vehicle approaching – a bus, from the sounds of it – quickly brought Groo back to the here and now. He started walking towards the motorized conveyance, which was now visible and approaching fast –

When all hell suddenly broke loose.

Hooded, man-like beings appeared out of the bushes, flinging rocks at the front window of the bus – and causing the driver to swerve madly, in an effort to avoid them. Groo had a brief glimpse of mutilated eyes that had been sown shut with runes on the faces of the attackers, before the bus careened over and fell down on its side – and then the hooded ones began to attack the vehicle. To Groo's eye, it was fairly obvious that they were after someone inside the bus, and were willing to kill in order to achieve their objective.

After he arrived on the scene and withdrew his sword, the hooded attackers noticed him. Two of them ran straight towards him, despite being blind, with long curved knives in their hands. Groo easily dodged the silver weapons aimed at him, though, as the mortal combat began.

"You are unworthy adversaries," Groo told them, as two swings of his massive sword decapitated both of his attackers. But that only led to more of the enemy heading towards him, instead of storming the bus.

Groo suddenly found himself in the fight of his life. He was more skilled than his opponents, true – but in battle, numbers can and do make a difference. So, he swung his sword endlessly at the hooded attackers, trying not to let himself be surrounded. Fortunately, the enemy didn't seem able to grasp the concept of attacking en masse; they were just trying to kill him one on one, and eventually, one of them managed to pierce skin on Groo's side.

Groo didn't respond, at least not verbally. Instead, he let his sword do the talking – feinting and then smashing the butt of the weapon into the enemy's hooded face, knocking him down and out.

"HEY!"

{ _The woman's voice is a timely distraction,_ } Groo thought to himself gratefully, as several of the enemy combatants turned to look in her direction. He took advantage of this to shove his sword through their bodies as quickly as he could.

Once all his opponents were dead, Groo took a moment to see what was happening around him. Ignoring the bleeding on the right hand side of his body, he saw a dark-haired woman fighting the hooded enemy with nothing but her bare hands, and _**winning**_. She looked like graceful death to Groo's eyes, her punches and kicks deadly to the ones who tried – ineffectually – to stab her.

One moment, the female was surrounded by four of her adversaries, hardly visible under their onslaught – and the next, three of them were dead on the ground, and the fourth was flying through the air, his neck broken before he crashed down onto the asphalt. Sensing his eyes on her, the warrior woman whirled around and took up a defensive battle stance.

"All right, who the hell are you?" she demanded.

"I am the Groosalugg, Groo to my friends," he said calmly, cleaning his blood- and gore-drenched sword on the robes of one of the fallen enemy. "Who are you?"

"Name's Faith," she replied curtly. "You with the Council?"

"What 'council' is this you speak of?" Groo asked curiously.

The woman's eyes widened, briefly. "Seriously, you don't know? The Watcher's Council. Bunch of assholes who think they can give the Slayer orders, and that she'll dance to their tune like some kind of mindless puppet?"

"You are a Vampire Slayer," Groo said, easily able to put two and two together. "You are the one I was sent here to help, then. However, it does not appear as if you truly needed my assistance... "

"Don't sell yourself short, pal. After they killed everyone else on board, apart from Rhodes, those bastards had me up against the ropes; if you hadn't drawn some of them off from inside that bus, I'd be dead right now," the Slayer – Faith – said matter-of-factly. "So, thanks for the assist."

"You are welcome," Groo said formally. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must attend to my wound before I depart."

"You're injured? Shit," Faith cursed. She quickly helped him staunch the bleeding before asking, "Where you going, anyway?"

"A place called Sunnydale," he replied, and Groo noticed the brief look of recognition which appeared on the Slayer's face. "I have business there to attend to, which concerns my former Princess."

"Yeah, well," Faith shrugged. "Funny thing is, thanks to these guys? Bringers, I think they're called? I figure that's where I'm headed next, too... "

TBC…

* * *

A/N: It's kinda funny how Joss loved to torment his characters, and put them through all sorts of emotional and physical pain. What's even funnier is after rereading this chapter, we couldn't help realizing how we pretty much did the exact same thing! Angel's Avengers have all sorts of problems right now, and odds are they're only going to get worse. Hmm, what do you think - should they self-destruct? Or get it together and become the lean mean fighting machine we knew and loved on the show? And what about the Scoobies? Hrmm, if we continue to channel our inner Whedon, then someone pretty much _has_ to die - or lose an eye, or whatever. Well, whatever happens, we hope you liked the chapter - and that you continue to read and review the story!


	22. Chapter Twenty-one

**Chapter Twenty-one**

 _Wednesday, November 13, 2002 – 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale; morning:_

Jonathan heard Buffy, Willow and Dawn talking in the kitchen, but paid little attention to what they were talking about. He was too busy glaring at Andrew, who was still tied to his chair in the middle of the Summers family living room.

{ _I was an_ _ **idiot**_ _to ever trust this guy again, after the way he and Warren tried to stab me in the back during that armored car robbery,_ } Jonathan thought to himself angrily. { _What's the matter with me? I shoulda learned my lesson that night, and just ditched Andrew at the first opportunity. Was I_ _ **that**_ _desperate for company that I didn't want to be all alone in Mexico, and stuck with him against my better judgment?_ }

Jonathan came to the conclusion that it was definitely possible, all things considered. Well, hindsight was twenty-twenty and all that, so he figured he should just be grateful someone Up There had decided to intervene on his behalf last night. Otherwise, right now, he'd be nothing but a blood-soaked corpse on top of that seal...

"I'm hungry," Andrew said, bringing Jonathan out of his musings. "Can you get me something to eat?"

"Why should I?" he growled. "Besides, I heard Xander complaining last night how you needed to lose a few pounds – you were that heavy for him to carry."

"Hey, it's not my fault our diet has mostly consisted of burritos and high-fat nachos lately," Andrew said defensively. "Besides, I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon, and I'm starving."

"I could make you eat that knife you were gonna stab me with, asshole. So _**shut**_ _ **up**_ ," Jonathan hissed at him furiously, getting up off the couch and glaring at his former friend. "Just sit there and be quiet, so that I won't give in to the urge to kill you. Because right now, you're really pushing your luck!"

"What's going on in here? Jonathan, siddown. Now," Buffy ordered him in no uncertain terms, as she entered the room. She waited until he was seated on the couch and said, "All right, what's the commotion?"

"I'm hungry," Andrew told her, which instantly made Buffy roll her eyes. "Could you untie my hands so I could eat something?"

"OK, Andrew – first off, you need to understand what the word 'prisoner' means. Second, neither I nor anyone else here owe you any free meals. Third, ye gods – but I _**still**_ can't believe how the First has put so much time and effort into getting you to do its dirty work," the Slayer said acidly. Then she added, "What, was it running low on evil minions or something?"

Jonathan would have added his own comments to that, but before he could do so, the front door bell ding-donged. He heard Buffy audibly sigh in annoyance before she went over to open the door; and the amateur warlock wasn't all that surprised when Cordelia came straight into the house, without even waiting for an invitation.

"What are you doing here this early?" Buffy wanted to know, looking outside for a moment before closing the front door. "And how the heck did you get Xander to give you his car? Last night, you said he had to get to work – "

"Xander's truck finally got fixed. Someone replaced the alternator on his Ford F-250 yesterday – free of charge – and delivered it to the apartment building this morning," Cordelia interrupted. "I mean, the Doofus told me how you and Dawn followed Willow to his place on Sunday, in order for him to repossess his Taurus because of that. You haven't forgotten, have you?"

"No, but – free of charge? Really?" Buffy frowned. "I mean, what's up with that?"

"Cordy! You're here," Willow said in greeting, as she and Dawn walked in from the kitchen. "How come you're here so early?"

"Xander's already gone to work, and no _**way**_ I was gonna sit around in his apartment doing nothing for any longer than I had to," Cordelia replied rapidly. She then turned back to Buffy and said, "And as for why someone at Xander's company fixed his truck for free, jeez – do I really have to explain that to you? RHIP."

"RHIP?" Buffy echoed in confusion.

"Yeah. Rank Hath Its Privileges. Truth is, certain people are entitled to special benefits; they're called winners. Which, nowadays, includes my boyfriend. Former," Cordelia added the last part with obvious reluctance.

Buffy scowled at her, Dawn shrugged and nodded, but Willow smiled. "Hey, remember that conversation we once had about the junior year swim team members, and their perks? It was pretty memorable! Cordelia, you said something just like that, back then – and didn't Xander say something in reply, uh, what about that nutty 'all men are created equal' thing?"

Cordelia smirked and nodded. "Propaganda spouted out by the ugly and less deserving."

"Yeah, and then you actually mentioned that part about Jefferson keeping slaves," the red-haired woman shook her head. "I still find it hard to believe you really went there!"

"Why? I mean, apparently, he was something of a tightass, even after the guy was elected President," Cordelia shrugged. "So my opinion, it's no wonder they eventually put his face on the nickel coin."

"Harumph," Buffy cleared her throat. "If we could get back on topic? Namely, why you're here," she said to Cordelia. "Because I have to get to work, Dawn has to go to school, and Willow has classes at UC Sunnydale this morning. So, unless you wanna volunteer for guard duty with these two... "

"Uh, question. If Cordelia hadn't come over – what was the plan?" Jonathan asked, getting up off the couch again.

"Lock you up in the basement again, and leave that guy tied up in his chair, until work was over for today," Buffy replied promptly.

"But – you can't leave me tied up like this all day! My ass is gonna get sores, sitting on this chair that long," Andrew complained.

"Shut up," quite a few female voices told him in no uncertain terms. Jonathan just glared at Andrew again, but none of the women took notice.

"So, Willow, college classes?" Cordelia asked, raising her eyebrows.

The redhead shrugged. "I've been blowing them off since Monday, but I can't afford to do that anymore. Not if I want to be matriculating with the class of 2003, anyway."

Cordelia nodded, briefly looking like she was making an effort not to blurt out her real thoughts on the matter. "OK, whatever. So, what am I supposed to do – just wait around here for you to come home? Or try to find a way to fix the amnesia myself?"

"Huh? Amnesia?" Jonathan asked, looking confused.

"We think it's some sorta spell. Cordelia here doesn't remember anything beyond, uh... just before the end of her junior year of high school," Dawn said uncomfortably. "That whole swim team incident."

"Oh. Huh. Well, if you're willing – I'd like to help with that, if I can," he shrugged. Off Cordelia's look, he added, "Hey, you saved my life last night, you and Xander. I figure, it's the least I can do."

" _ **You**_ can do magic nowadays?" Cordelia asked, looking astonished. Then she shook her head. "Oh, wait – Xander mentioned something the other night, some sorta magical stunt you pulled after graduation?"

Jonathan shrugged again. "Uh, yeah. Not exactly my finest accomplishment, sure, but – well, I do know something about the craft; spells, glamours and stuff. I'm nowhere near Willow's level, but I can still do some things better than your average practitioner," he told her.

"Oh, I don't know... " Willow said, dubiously. "I mean, no offense, Jonathan – but I'm pretty sure this thing with Cordelia's memory problem is way outta your league!"

"And quite frankly, I don't know if we can trust you that much yet," Buffy said to him. "You spent too much of last year as the enemy for us to simply forgive and forget, you should know."

Jonathan shrugged and nodded. "Fair enough. But my offer still stands, for whatever it's worth."

"So why'd you do it?" Dawn asked, as all eyes turned to face her. "I mean, why'd you ever team up with those two idiots in the first place?"

"Hey!" Andrew shouted, but again, everyone told him to shut up. Dawn then repeated her question, staring at him intensely.

Jonathan squirmed and looked uncomfortable. "It, uh, it just sorta seemed like a good idea at the time, y'know? And, well, truth is I was kinda bored back then – Andrew, Warren and I were playing that D & D game, and I just sorta... "

"Unbelievable," Buffy muttered. She then said to him, "How did it come to this, I ask you? For God's sake – we _**knew**_ each other in high school, Jonathan, and even afterwards – "

"Sure, but it's not like you ever invited me to hang with you and your friends. You, Willow and Xander – and even Oz and Cordelia, for a while there – you all made it clear that your little group had exclusive limited membership. No outsiders need apply," Jonathan told her with a vague hand gesture. "Even though Anya and that Riley guy, and even that Tara girl – "

He stopped and stared at Willow apologetically. "And I'm so sorry for what happened to your girlfriend, Willow. I really am. I swear to you, I never wanted Tara to be hurt or killed – "

"This is getting us nowhere," Cordelia cut in, seeing the upset look on Willow's face. "Look, Jonathan, I just want to know one thing – you really think you can help me?"

"I dunno. But I can try," he said simply.

"Fine. Then go wait by the car, until I join you," she ordered him. Nodding, he quickly left out the front door.

* * *

 _A moment later – the same place; morning:_

"I hope you know what you're doing. Because high school was a long time ago, and Jonathan's changed," Buffy said warningly.

Cordelia shrugged. "Well, obviously. But then, so has everyone else. Some people for the better, others – not so much."

"What's _**that**_ supposed to mean?" Buffy demanded, taking her comment precisely the wrong way.

"Exactly what it sounds like," Cordelia said dismissively. Then she turned to look at Willow. "I figure the nerd and I will head for the magic shop, see what books and stuff we can find there to help. You'll come by once you're free?"

"Yup," Willow nodded. She reached into her jacket pocket and brought out a folded piece of paper, before handing it over. "Here. This is the stuff not worth looking at, because I've already checked 'em out and determined that they're useless; it'll save you some time."

"Thanks," Cordy accepted the paper and put it into her own pocket.

"Damn, look at the time. We really need to get going," Buffy said, checking the nearby clock.

"Are, are you guys really gonna leave me here? All alone?" Andrew suddenly re-entered the conversation, causing everyone to look in his direction. "I mean, what if there's a burglar? What if there's a fire? What if – "

"You say 'what if I pee all over the carpet' again, we're gonna have a problem," Buffy interrupted roughly. "All right, Andrew, here's the deal. I'll let you out of that chair and lock you up in the basement. You won't be able to get out of there, not with all the bars on the windows and the heavy-duty lock on the door. Try anything funny, and I swear – I'll personally deliver you to the cops after I come home from work. Got it?"

"Uh, sure," Wells nodded frantically. "But, um, food? Like I said before, I'm kinda starving."

"You can have bread and water, this isn't a hotel for attempted murderers. Just don't eat and drink too much – or else, you're gonna have to use a bucket down there if you do," Buffy told him, before ripping the ropes off with Slayer strength and dragging Andrew to the kitchen for supplies.

Willow looked at her watch, muttered that she was definitely going to be late, and likewise departed to grab her stuff and head for the UC Sunnydale campus. That left Dawn and Cordelia alone together, for like the first time ever.

"So, you really don't remember me. And I don't actually look human to you," Dawn said, staring her right in the eye.

"Yeah, but Xander says you're one of his girls, so that's good enough for me," Cordelia shrugged. "Besides, I can tell how you're not evil or anything."

"This is so weird," Dawn said, almost to herself. "Because I remember you, Cordelia, and really well. Time was that you were my role model, almost – and I remember giving Xander all kinds of grief for cheating on you with Willow, that was a really low point in our friendship. Plus, I remember us talking on the phone once or twice over the years, after you called Willow for help on whatever."

"Well, who knows. Maybe when I get my memories back, I'll remember you again. As Buffy's little sister, I mean," Cordelia quickly clarified. "I think I'd kinda like that, actually. Because Xander mentioned that the way he remembers it, we used to babysit you?"

"Yeah. Even though that one time, after I came downstairs again after going to bed? He was _**way**_ more interested in shoving his tongue down your throat, while you two made out on the couch." Dawn rolled her eyes in annoyance, causing Cordelia to smile in a far more genuine way. The teen noticed and added, "Hey, I was only eleven – and you two totally grossed me out! Seriously, I thought for sure you were gonna choke to death, and die... "

"Uh-huh. So, spill. There a special guy in your life? Or has my Doofus ruined you for all other men?" Cordy asked, amusedly.

"Nuh-uh. To both questions. And Xander's yours again? Like, officially?"

"Not yet, Dawn, but soon," Cordelia said straightforwardly. "I mean, just between us? I'm pretty sure I'm wearing down his resistance over that 'she's just seventeen!' crap. And if I have to, I'll sneak into his bedroom one night soon, and _**make**_ him mine again... "

Dawn opened her mouth to say something, when Buffy came back into the living room with Andrew in tow. The Slayer yanked open the basement door, shoved Wells inside with a baguette and thermos of water, and then locked the door securely. Buffy then told her sister to grab her stuff, that they had to go like right now.

Cordelia nodded, said her goodbyes to the Summers women, and then departed towards her car – where Jonathan was standing patiently, waiting for her to arrive.

* * *

 _A while later – main counter of the Magic Box, Sunnydale; morning:_

Anya looked up as the doorbell jingled, and immediately frowned. She recognized both of the new arrivals; one was her former Wish-based client, not to mention Xander's ex-girlfriend, and the other –

"Jonathan? Jonathan Levinson? What are _**you**_ doing here? Why aren't you in jail, where you belong?" Anya demanded, coming out from behind the counter. "And you should know that I categorically refuse to do business with wanted criminals, no matter how much money you're willing to offer me to purchase goods and services here."

"I'm not here to buy anything, Anya. I'm just here to try to help Cordelia with her amnesia problem," Jonathan told her, shuffling his feet slightly. "White flag type deal, OK? Not here to cause you or anyone any hassles."

"Oh." Somewhat perplexed after hearing that, Anya transferred her attention to Cordelia and said, "Is this true?"

The Seer nodded. "Willow has college-y stuff to deal with today, so I figure since I saved this jerk's life last night, I might as well get _**something**_ useful out of it. Until she can shake a leg and get over here, later on."

"Well, great! That's just perfect. Yet again, you people are disrupting my business! How am I supposed to make a profit with all your constant interference?" Anya ranted.

Cordelia held up Xander's credit card. "I'm willing to pay rent for using this place for my own purposes."

Immediately, Anya calmed down. "Well, that's different! All right, fine, my standard rate is – "

"I don't give a crap. You get five bucks an hour, and I'm willing to pay for a whole working day, in advance. That comes to forty dollars," Cordelia cut her off, staring at Anya with a no nonsense look in her eye. "And just so it's clear, this is _**not**_ negotiable."

"What? That's chicken feed! Not even worth my time. Why should I do it?" Anya demanded, angrily.

"Because this place doesn't actually belong to you, and I'll complain to Giles if you don't shut up and play ball," Cordelia warned her. "He'll be coming back to Sunnydale eventually, and I know how to annoy him enough so that he'll do whatever I want, just to get rid of me. Even if that means getting rid of you."

Anya glowered, but then silently conceded that the amnesiac shrew had won this particular round. Besides, money was money, and she definitely didn't want this unwelcome interloper getting any ideas about punching her in the face again. "Fine. Gimme."

Cordelia handed over the credit card, along with a warning not to try anything funny. Anya ignored that, and quickly closed the sale of Magic Box rental space for today before handing the card back to the Seer. "All right, it's done. Now, speaking as your landlord, there are certain rules you need to follow – "

"I'll stay out of your way, and so will Jonathan," Cordelia interrupted her at once. "Plus, you don't harass us on whatever research-y stuff we need to access to fix my memory problem. Those are the _**only**_ rules between us, Demon Girl. We clear on that?"

"Fine," Anya said again, grimacing. "Well, get on with it, then. I have other paying customers to deal with."

"Uh, where?" Jonathan finally spoke up, gesturing around at the empty shop. "Ow!" he then grunted, as two female hands dope-slapped his head. "What was that for?"

"No one likes a smartass, Jonathan," Cordelia told him firmly.

Anya nodded firmly. "What she said."

The Chase woman pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket, and gave it to the geek. "Now, let's get started. This is the stuff Willow said she's already checked out, so no need to bother with any of that... "

* * *

 _A while later – 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale; mid-morning:_

Andrew tried opening the basement door, but failed to succeed in his attempt. He then went back down the stairs, and tried the windows, but with an equal lack of success. Depressed, he started munching on his bread and drinking water from the thermos – before he put them both down, as a resigned look appeared on his face.

Grabbing a yellow bucket from near the dryer and putting it down on the floor, Andrew quickly unzipped his pants –

* * *

 _The same time – Sunnydale High School basement, Sunnydale; mid-morning:_

Buffy walked straight towards the door in front of her, with the "Basement No Student Access" sign on it. She checked to make sure no one was looking, and then went through, walking down the stairs. She entered the high school basement, and quickly walked over to examine the seal of Danzalthar.

"What the hell is this thing?" she asked herself, examining the inverted pentagram with the goat's head in confusion.

* * *

 _A few hours later – St Joseph's Medical Center, Stockton, Northern California; afternoon:_

Faith ran through the double doors into the ER, carrying a wounded Edie Rhodes in her arms. She looked and felt tired; even with her amazing strength and stamina, the journey here from the ambush site had been quite taxing for her. Groo came in behind them, a moment later.

"We need a doctor over here!" the Slayer yelled out, before various orderlies and nursing staff rushed over, taking the wounded prison guard off of her hands.

"Oh, great... " the Chosen One then muttered herself, seeing a Stockton County Deputy Sherriff in full uniform approaching rapidly.

Faith suddenly got the nasty feeling that it might take a while before the upcoming police investigation was finished, and so she was glad that she'd had the foresight to hide Groo's huge-ass sword in a safe place...

* * *

 _A while earlier – the Magic Box, Sunnydale; lunchtime:_

Slayer Central. Not all that long ago, Jonathan remembered, he and the other two members of the Trio had considered it enemy headquarters...

He had to force himself not to think about the last time he was present in this place. Back when Black Magic Willow was on the rampage, and wanting to turn him and Andrew into nerd flambé – after skinning Warren alive, and then killing him with as little effort as stomping on a bug (or so he'd heard). Fortunately, it was easy to distract himself with all the reading material; he had to admit, there was a real treasure trove of information here...

The doorbell jingled, and Jonathan looked up to see Willow enter the store, before focusing back on his self-appointed task. A few minutes later, he was vaguely aware that Willow, Anya and Cordelia had gotten into some sort of argument – but he was so focused that he barely even registered how the three beautiful women had become very upset over something to do with Xander...

"OK," Jonathan said, snapping his book shut and grabbing another one. He read it and then looked up. "Uh, ladies? I think I found something!"

Still glaring at Willow and Anya, Cordelia finally (and reluctantly) switched her attention back to him. "What? You say something, Dweeboid?"

"Yeah," Jonathan nodded, ignoring the insult. "A spell I think might help tell us what sort of magical amnesia you're suffering from, actually."

Willow frowned, calming down and looking at what he was pointing to within the leather-bound tome. "What is this? Jonathan... this isn't any sort of diagnostic spell, what have you-?"

"I know, that's the whole point!" Off the redhead's look, he tried to explain, "I heard how you tried to read Cordelia's aura a few days ago, right? And it nearly killed you. That's why I'm thinking any _**direct**_ mystical examination is too dangerous, at least under the current circumstances. We need a more... tangential approach. Like this one."

"Let me see that!" Anya bustled the guy aside and snatched the book from Willow's hands. "Hrmm. Oh! Yes. With the right sort of prep work, I think this might do... "

"What are you talking about?" Cordelia demanded, straightaway.

"Uh, how to explain it in layman's terms... well, magic isn't like a computer program, or a cooking recipe. Do this, enter that, get this result. No matter what some people might think." The shopkeeper glanced at Willow, who briefly glared back at her. The former vengeance demon continued on regardless, "Truth is, magic is about _**intent**_. And the caster's intentions and imagination and will. This spell, it's based on using the willpower and focus of the caster to intentionally direct their magic _**through**_ something, and generate a...a mystical shadow, I guess you could call it, on an illuminated surface. Think of it as a supernatural X-ray!"

"Okayyy, I think I follow you so far," Cordelia said, blinking. "So, what's the catch?"

"The spell, it's not designed to work on people," Willow frowned. "I mean, it's for inanimate objects. Still, on second thoughts... Jonathan, I think Anya's right, you may be on to something. I mean, if we just alter this section here... "

Cordelia quickly tuned out the mystical technobabble, she didn't care about details she couldn't possibly understand anyway. Eventually, she cut into the conversation and said, "Look, bottom line it all for me. Will this spell help me get my missing memories back?"

"Not directly, no," Anya shrugged. "It'll help pinpoint exactly what's wrong with you, though. And I have to admit, my professional curiosity has now definitely been engaged. Eleven hundred years as a demon, and a magic user before that, I don't think I've ever witnessed anything like what this spell is supposed to accomplish! So, excuse me while I finish up with these customers, and then briefly close the shop's doors for some privacy."

"Yeah, you do that. I'll need a few minutes to modify the spell. Jonathan, you get a bunch of candles, whatever's easiest – and light up that wall over there," Willow directed her former classmate, waving a hand in the appropriate direction.

"OK."

Cordelia watched and waited for a few minutes, as the preparations for the ritual were completed. Once the Magic Box was empty of customers, Anya locked the front door, and then grabbed her cell phone from under the front counter. The Vision Girl saw her do it and asked, "What's that for?"

"Well, duh! No one's ever done this before, or at least not as far as I know. Who knows how long that mystical X-ray image will actually last? That's why I'm planning to take a photo of it with my phone!" Anya exclaimed huffily.

"That's – a good idea, actually," Jonathan admitted, nodding. "Document everything. That way, if something goes wrong, at least we'll know what not to do next time."

"What? It might not work?!" Cordelia exclaimed.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, of course it might not work," Anya said irritably. "I mean, how can there possibly be any guarantees at this point? Think about it; this is something that's being tried for the very first time. A brand-new spell like this is a lot more likely to fail than not, at least initially. I'll wager that we'll need to iron quite a few bugs out... "

Later, Jonathan figured the ex-demon was either a lot more knowledgeable than she appeared, or else she was deliberately sabotaging the spell just to make a point. Because the first six times they tried it, nothing happened. But on the seventh try...

Willow's magicks went through Cordelia, and something... _**resonated**_ , for a want of a better word, throughout the magic shop. Vaguely, Jonathan was aware of a brief whir-flash noise to the side, but he didn't automatically connect that to Anya taking a photo of the wall illuminated by the candlelight. He didn't even register the shocked silence in the aftermath of the spell.

"This is – amazing," Jonathan breathed in pure awe, and Cordelia (who looked like she was she was kinda out of it) stared at him in surprise.

"I have to concur with that assessment," Anya nodded, taking more pictures with her Nokia phone camera. "It's quite the revelatory experience. In fact, I think development of this spell will be quite the watershed event in the years to come! Not to mention a source of long-term profit."

"Why? What happened?!" Cordelia demanded, before she looked at the wall – and gasped in surprise.

Everyone could see the black and white image of the Seer, it was almost as if someone was X-raying her and the wall was like a huge TV screen. There were no bones or anything visible, just – areas of light and darkness. But then, a moment later, the image faded – and there was nothing but normal candlelight present.

"Did you get that? Close-ups, and from various angles? Please tell me you got all that!" Jonathan yelped, looking at Anya.

"Yes, yes, you annoying virgin, I got it all!" Anya snapped at him.

"Anya," Willow said reprovingly, "There's no need for insults, OK? Now, let's have a look at the photographic record... "

They all took turns examining the recorded images, and then both Willow and he hit the books again, trying to interpret what they and everybody else had seen. Eventually, Cordy got tired of waiting for answers and demanded, "So, what does all this mean?"

"Yes, I'd be interested in knowing that myself. Time is money, after all," Anya said, checking her watch.

"OK, this is all pretty preliminary, but – this is what we know, or at least have guessed so far. Willow?" Jonathan gestured at the redhead.

"Yeah, uh... well, somehow, while still remaining predominately human, Cordelia's also become at least partially demon – but it seems to be a good, or at least non-evil demon," Willow said slowly.

Cordelia was understandably freaked by this. "WHAT THE HELL?!"

"Yeah, guess Xander finally has a perfect dating record now," Willow giggled in amusement, before she winced at Cordelia's glare and visibly focused. "Sorry. Anyway, it's true; the demon essence's signature is unmistakable, even though I have no idea how that happened. Cordy, I'm guessing we'll have to ask Angel and your friends in L.A. about that at some point. But that's not all... "

"What else?" Cordy asked faintly, not sure if she wanted to know the answer.

"Well, that dark shadow or presence that I detected before, with the other spell I did? You remember, the aura reading one that kinda blew up in our faces? It's somehow intertwined with the memory spell, or whatever it is that's causing your amnesia," Willow frowned.

"Meaning?" the Vision Girl demanded.

This time, Jonathan spoke up. "Well, we're not one hundred percent sure, but it _**looks**_ like your aura is tied to the Higher Realms by a faint mystical linkage of some kind; one that's also entangled with the dark blot on your aura and chakras."

Cordelia sent him a look of pure exasperation and said, "OK, lemme rephrase. What does that mean, in normal English?!"

"Well, uh, to use an analogy – Cordy, we think the dark stain might be a latent infection, or-or a timed virus of some sort," Willow shrugged. "And while I can't be absolutely certain yet, I'm at least ninety-nine percent sure that it's spread to every single part of your brain. So – uh, from the looks of it... it may not be possible to restore your memories and break this spell you're under, without activating that dark infection within you."

"Wait up; are you saying that I'm _**stuck**_ like this? That this is too dangerous to try and fix? That I don't ever get the last four and a half years back?!" Cordelia demanded, in wide-eyed disbelief.

"No, we're not saying that, at least not yet," Jonathan shook his head.

"He's right. But it, it needs further research and some _**very**_ cautious exploration before we even attempt to do anything further, because I have no idea what we'd be setting off – if we accidentally awakened the infection inside you," Willow told Cordelia bluntly.

"Well, uh, yeah. Guess that makes sense, I'd rather not go there," Cordy blinked and nodded rapidly. "So, this, uh, infection, are you guys saying – well, I've haven't got a case of supernatural crabs or anything, have I?"

"Nope," Jonathan replied at once, shaking his head again. "Whatever this dark virus -slash- infection really is... physically at least, you're fine at the moment. And like Willow said, all we can do is continue to research this ourselves – since apparently your friends in L.A. are more or less missing in action right now."

TBC…

* * *

A/N: Cordelia's reference to crabs was in fact inspired by The Big Bang Theory season 6 episode 21, 'The Closure Alternative'; "I think you'll like the next one better. All the cheerleaders are suffering from an evil curse." "Oh. Well, that's like my high school, too. But instead of a curse, it was crabs." Just goes to show that even 15 years later, BTVS season 1 episode 3 'The Witch' was still a wonderful part of the TV mythos in this world!

And DonR, thank you for your anonymous reviews; hopefully we've answered some of your questions on which way Cordelia will jump if/when she gets her memories back, what will happen if Andrew starts worshipping the ground Buffy and Willow walk on, and no - Connor will _not_ be a happy camper when he and the others finally track Cordelia down! Anyway, we hope you and everyone else have enjoyed this chapter, and please tell us what you thought of it!


	23. Chapter Twenty-two

**Chapter Twenty-two**

 _Wednesday, November 13, 2002 – outside the Hyperion hotel, Los Angeles; morning:_

Kate Lockley made her way towards the front doors of the hotel. { _Two days,_ } she thought to herself, { _we've been looking for Angel for two whole days, and so far, we got nada. Damn it, this is taking far too long..._ }

"Morning," she said to Fred and Gunn, nodding at them. She noticed Connor was off to the side, sulking, and Lorne was nowhere to be seen. "Where's the resident demon?"

"Lorne? He left, bit earlier on," Gunn replied grouchily. "Said he's gonna hit some places he hasn't tried yet. Mentioned something about headin' off to Sun Valley, so I dunno if we'll be seeing him again anytime soon."

"OK, you know what? We need to change tactics," Kate decided, looking around at everyone. "Because searching the city like this is getting us nowhere."

"What do you mean?" Connor demanded, getting up and coming over towards her.

"I mean, we've been searching for Angel and Miss Chase the normal way for two days. And what have we got to show for it? Nothing. And that's exactly what we're going to continue getting, if we don't change our whole approach to tracking them down," Kate told him.

"What sort of approach did you have in mind?" Fred asked, looking confused.

Kate took a deep breath. "Magic."

"Magic?" Gunn, Fred and Connor echoed in surprise.

"Yeah. Not that I know much about it, but I'm thinking that perhaps the quickest and easiest way to track those two down is with a... a locator spell, or whatever it's called," Kate said, frowning.

"Well, I guess that sounds good in theory, but there's one vital flaw in your plan. None of us can do magic," Fred shrugged, gesturing to Gunn and Connor. "Can you?"

"No," Kate admitted freely. "But surely you people have to know someone – a witch, a wizard, a warlock or whatever? Someone you can trust to help?"

"Can't Wesley do magic?" Connor demanded, looking around at everyone present, and somehow managing not to fully glare at the Texan woman. Kate had no idea why he was so upset, but since the youth managed to conceal his emotions adequately enough, she wasn't going to pry.

"Not an option," Fred and Gunn said in unison, before looking at each other in surprise. Off Kate's look, the former physicist added, "You didn't see how _**pissed**_ he was when he left here last night. Trust me; Wes needs time to calm down before we go to him for anything again. A lot of time; like days or weeks, even."

"Anyone else?" Kate sighed.

Gunn shrugged before saying, "Well, guess there's that Magnus Bryce wizard dude we ran into, couple years back – English dated his daughter for a few months. But no way in hell we could ever trust that guy not to stab us in the back!"

"Why not?" Fred asked, Kate quickly guessing how the woman hadn't heard about any of this before.

"Man tried to sacrifice his own kid on his fiftieth birthday! No frickin' wonder how, afterwards, that Virginia girl grabbed her trust fund – then she hightailed it outta that mansion, 'n never went back," Charles snorted contemptuously.

"Anyone else?" Kate asked again, suddenly feeling the mother and father of all headaches coming on.

"Uh, Madam Anita? The woman who restored our memories with that elixir?" Fred asked hesitantly.

"No way. I mean, yeah, she might be able to do the job, or tell us who could – but price that Beverly Hills madam is gonna charge for services rendered? Already know it'll be way outta our league," Gunn said pessimistically.

"Well... what about those three women who placed a protection spell on Lorne's club? What are their names, uh, the Transuding Furies?" Fred said hesitantly.

"You think they're trustworthy?" Connor finally spoke up again.

"I guess," Fred shrugged again. "Only thing is, I have no idea where to find them. I mean, I kinda doubt they'd be listed in the phone book... "

"Don't look at me – I got no clue, either. I know Angel and Cordy have been there, apartment where those three live, but that ain't exactly helpful right now," Gunn said, looking annoyed.

"Well, why don't you just call your demon friend, and ask _**him?**_ If he's hired them in the past, Lorne should know how to contact them, shouldn't he?" Connor said disparagingly.

"Good point," Kate nodded, ignoring the embarrassed look on Gunn and Fred's faces. "All right, what's his phone number?"

"Uh, I dunno," Fred replied, looking embarrassed. "I mean, Lorne got himself a brand new cell phone yesterday, and – I kinda forgot to get the number off of him?"

"Yeah, me too," Gunn admitted, his facial expression tightening.

"Don't look at me, I don't even own one of those things," Connor said curtly, when all eyes turned towards him.

"Great," Kate groaned, feeling as if mom and pop headache had decided to breed, and a lot of little headaches were coming her way. "All right, I guess there's nothing else thing for it. My car's parked outside, everybody – looks like we're heading for Sun Valley... "

* * *

 _Many hours later – Valley Boulevard, Rosemead; evening:_

Liam hurried away from the other pedestrians on the suburban street; he could hear their hearts beating, and their blood flowing through their veins, like red rivers full of life and tempting sweetness.

Clenching his teeth and digging his nails into the palms of his hands, he tried to concentrate on the physical pain to ignore the overwhelming hunger. Liam told himself to ignore that burning sensation in his throat and tongue, which seemed to engulf his whole being into a tight fist, covering his eyes with a red veil of bloodlust.

Liam didn't consciously realize it, but it had been three days since he'd last fed. He hurried his pace, knowing that he needed to find a solution to his problem soon – because getting drunk to ignore the need for blood wasn't going to work, not any longer.

He could feel his self-control slipping away, more and more with every passing second.

Then he smelled something, grasped the hint of something in the air, and he followed his undead nose down several side streets to the back entrance of the slaughterhouse. Thanking God or Satan or whoever had helped him guide him here, Liam broke into the abattoir and started searching for what he needed. His eyes blazing yellow, his skin pale and shiny, and his nostrils flaring with the smell of blood...

He could hear a heartbeat, several in fact. And breathing, too. Not human, not at all. Bigger hearts, bigger lungs, and with a pungent scent of animal excrement; one that was very familiar to him from life in Galway.

Cows.

Sources of blood.

Ignoring the smell, Liam hurried into the chamber where the animals were being held. Growling, with his face fully vamped out and twisted into a grimace of need, he headed towards the first cow he could see and, easily jumping over the fence that surrounded it, got into its pen.

The animal just looked at him, with those brown and incredibly sad bovine eyes. It didn't make a sound as Liam grabbed the cow by the horns and twisted savagely, snapping its thick neck.

Holding the carcass up effortlessly, Liam sank his fangs into the cow's neck, gulping down the already-cooling blood. He drank as much and as quickly as he could, feeling the strength returning to his body as his belly grew full on the animal's blood.

(He didn't know how he knew it, but Liam was nonetheless certain that human blood would taste ever so much better than this. But that led somewhere he did _**not**_ want to go. Not now. Not ever.)

In the end, Liam tossed aside the drained corpse and allowed himself to fall heavily on his rear end; his back leaning on the metallic fence, while trying to recover his wits. Liam absentmindedly wiped the blood that had drenched his mouth and chin with the back of his hand, but only succeeded in smearing it all over his lips.

"Oh my God, _**Angel?**_ "

Straightaway, Liam jumped to his feet, growling and cursing himself for being so distracted as not to notice that he now had company. He could hear the heartbeats and the breathing of at least five individuals, even if his eyes were blinded by the unholy light being shone into his face...

"Get that thing outta me eyes!" he shouted, turning away and holding up his arms to shield himself from the abomination assaulting his vision. Grunting with relief when the light ceased being directed at him, Liam straightened up – before recognizing his new companions. Well, two of them anyway.

"What in the name of Finnegan's Irish Myste are you two doin' here?" he growled at Fred and Gunn, before he turned to face the other three. One was a sneering lad roughly his own age, the other a woman fair of face and form with hair the color of gold, and the last one –

"Oh, shite," Liam cursed fearfully, staring at the horned, red-eyed, green-skinned creature in dismay. "Yer the Devil finally come fer me, aren't ye? Well, I'll no' be subject to Hell's tortures without a fight, y'hear me? So have at it, Satan; I'm ready fer battle!"

"Oh, Angel-cake, are you totally barking up the wrong tree," the creature replied with what sounded like sympathy in its voice, much to Liam's consternation. "I mean, look at what I'm wearing. Come on, you really think the Devil wears a suit like this? Not even on his best day!"

Confused, he stared at the demon – Liam had the oddest feeling it wasn't lying to him, this truly wasn't the Evil One incarnate – before transferring his attention back to the fishwife and the Blackamoor. Oddly, there was no trace of fear or hostility on their faces; in fact, they seemed calm and in control, and concerned about something. Him, from the looks of it...

Now even more confused, Liam looked at the woman and the boy. "And who are you two being, then?"

"My name's Kate Lockley," the woman introduced herself, staring at him carefully.

"Connor," the boy practically spat out the name. Then he smirked. "And you really don't remember who you are, do you?"

"I remember who I am perfectly well, ye sneerin' lump," Liam replied, causing the boy – Connor – to scowl at him viciously. "And 'tis odd how ye remind me of me father, may he rot in Hell for all his sins. Just not this one, o' course."

"Really? Fathers. Don't they suck?" Connor said with an evil smile, ignoring the looks the other four were sending him.

"Aye, if I take yer meaning correctly. Is your da a self-righteous bastard, then, like mine?" Liam asked curiously.

Connor chuckled. "Oh, you'd be surprised just what kind of a bastard he is."

"Connor, that's enough," the fishwife said sternly. "Look, Angel, I know you don't remember me, but my name's Fred – "

"Me name's not 'Angel', woman," Liam interrupted her, scowling. "And Fred, is it? Well, that's being as good a name as any other, I'm thinking. What about yerself?" he asked the black man.

"I'm Gunn. Charles Gunn, with two n's," he introduced himself. "And damn. You still got no idea what's goin' on, do you?"

"What do ye want with me?" Liam demanded angrily, ignoring that. "Isn't it bad enough we're all trapped in Hell, together? Do ye have to torment me with pointless questions?"

"We want to help you remember who you really are," Fred said, looking concerned.

"I already told ye, I know who – " Liam started to say.

"Liam of Galway, yes, we know," the blond lass – Kate, she'd called herself, a beautiful name for a beautiful wench he wouldn't mind bedding at the first opportunity – interrupted. "Born 1727, and died 1753, becoming the vampire known as Angelus."

"What?" Liam said numbly, staring at her.

"It's 2002 nowadays, Liam, almost 2003," Kate continued on calmly, looking him straight in the eyes. "And this isn't Hell; it's America. What was referred to as the New World, back in your day. To make a long story short, and leaving out a lot of detail, you've been walking the Earth for two and a half centuries as one of the undead. But thanks to a magic spell which unexpectedly went wrong, you lost all your memories of that time. Just like all the other participants in that particular ritual, you ended up thinking you were seventeen again; and we've spent the past three days searching for you, and Cordelia Chase."

Bothered, bewitched and bewildered, Liam grasped hold of the last name to focus upon. "Are ye talkin' about that annoying fishwife I met, right after I woke up? The wench with the healthy set o' lungs on her?"

"DON'T talk about Cordelia like that!" Connor growled at once, looking angrier than a rampaging bull fenced off from heifers in heat.

"Ah. No offense meant, laddie buck. She yer woman, then?" Liam asked, curiously.

"Yes," Connor said, at the same time Fred, Gunn and Lorne said, "No."

Liam ignored the hateful looks Connor sent those three, and returned his focus to Kate. He could tell she was the one who would most likely be able to best answer his questions. "So, yer saying this is actually the Year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Two? Don't s'pose ye can be showing me any proof o' that, by any chance?"

"Look in your wallet," Gunn shrugged. "You got I.D. in there, driver's license, credit card. Way I figure it, that ought to be proof enough for you?"

Frowning, Liam brought out his billfold and examined the strange things in there, with writing and pictures on them. He saw numbers like 2004 and 2005 on the brightly colored rectangles, and provisionally decided to accept the truth of what he'd just heard, before putting the – wallet – back in his pocket. "All right. Assumin' this isn't all a huge trick, s'posing that I believe ye. What next?"

Kate brought out a small metal bottle, one containing a glowing blue liquid. "Take a sip of this, and the spell will be undone – just like it's been undone for everyone else so far. Well, apart from Miss Chase, of course, since we haven't found her yet."

Suspiciously, Liam accepted the bottle and stared around at the group. "Aye, so ye say. But just outta interest, where's the English pig? What was his name, Wyndam-Pryce?"

"Wesley left as soon as his memories were restored, Angel. He's, uh, he's not actually part of the group, not anymore," Fred replied, looking askance at Connor; who just smirked at her for a moment. "And once you drink that, you'll remember why."

"Again, so ye say. And what guarantees will I be havin' that this stuff won't instantly kill me?" Liam asked, his Irish accent thickening slightly.

"Well, for one thing, I couldn't possibly be so lucky," Connor replied facetiously, before earning himself a smack upside the head by Kate and quickly glaring at her.

Oddly, that was enough to convince him, on top of everything else he'd heard so far; and so Liam removed the stopper, and took a quick gulp of the blue liquid.

It tasted as if a fiery sword had been shoved down his throat to skewer his guts. And then – the memories came pouring back into his brain.

The nine years before meeting Darla in the alley; that hard, crushing pain in his throat, stealing his breath and life at the same time; clawing his way up through the dirt of his own grave; his first victim, the unfortunate gravedigger who'd come to investigate the unusual noises in the cemetery –

"No... no, please... " Liam began to shake as the memories gathered force and tumbled over him in a violent, unstoppable flood, each one a tidal wave of screams, terror and gore. He grabbed his head in anguish and staggered off to the side, trying to shake off the blood-soaked visions. But they continued, relentless and merciless, ripping away at his mind until they threatened to drive him insane.

His inner Angelus, who had been silent – asleep – for the past three days, finally woke up and started pulling against the chains of his soul all over again, jeering and sneering at him.

"NOOOO!" Angel screamed, startling both his crew and the cattle in their pens; who start mooing, restless and upset.

"Angel?" Kate's voice was quiet but insistent.

"Angel? Are you OK? Gosh, are you all right? None of the rest of us reacted that way to the elixir," Fred's voice sounded concerned, and somewhat scared.

"Well, that's the thing, pixie cat. None of us had to cope with the kind of memories that the Dark Avenger here is having to deal with," Lorne's voice was oddly restrained, subdued.

"You mean like what he did to Holtz and his family, when he was Angelus," his son's voice – oh dear Lord, Connor was his _**son**_ , how could he not have remembered that? – buzzed in his ear.

"I'm – all right. More or less," Angel grunted, managing to bury the bulk of the memories and forcing himself to concentrate on the here and now. "Come on, let's get out of here. Just our luck, some security guard will start making his rounds – and then arrest us all for cattle mutilation... "

No one could argue with that logic, and so they all quickly left the slaughterhouse. Piling into Kate's car and Gunn's truck, Fred gave him something to wipe the blood off his face, and then they all quickly traveled back to the Hyperion. There was an eerie silence throughout the journey; for some reason, no one wanted to discuss what had just happened in the abattoir.

(Angel couldn't help wondering why Fred was sitting with him in the back seat while Connor was up front alongside Kate, and Lorne was keeping Gunn company in the other vehicle. But he instinctively knew not to ask questions about _**that**_ at this point.)

Finally, they arrived back at the hotel, and everyone got out of the two cars. Angel glanced around and said, "Guys, can you give me a few moments in private with Kate, here?"

Connor and the various members of his crew nodded and headed inside the hotel, even though his boy sent him a questioning look first. "It's OK, son. Go on inside, I won't be long," Angel told him. He then turned to Kate and said, "So – "

"What's a nice girl like me doing in a place like this?" the ex-cop interrupted, arching an eyebrow in amusement.

"Well, actually, I was gonna say something more along the lines of, why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you come looking for me? Kate, don't get me wrong, I'm grateful – more than you can possibly imagine – but still. How did you ever even get involved in all this?" Angel wanted to know.

Kate exhaled loudly, and told him everything. From her initial involvement, when the LAPD had called her in about Connor and Cordelia's makeshift home in the attic above the Natural History Museum, to spending the last few days searching for him. She even mentioned searching for Lorne in Sun Valley earlier today, along with Angel's crew; eventually finding the demon in a lowlife bar on Tuxford Street. Lorne had been talking to a skeevy-looking man wearing an old-fashioned pin-striped suit and a pair of GATs, but Kate didn't dwell on that too much.

"And to answer your first question, regarding the why? It wasn't all that long ago you saved _**my**_ life, remember? So once I understood the situation, I had to do what I could to help you. It's that simple," Kate finished up.

"Well, like I said, I'm grateful. Doubly grateful," Angel smiled at her, before the smile suddenly turned upside down. "Uh, wait... Cordelia's still missing?"

"Yeah," Kate nodded. "That locator spell the Furies did for you? It didn't work for her. So, either she's somewhere out of range – or else she's, y'know... "

"Dead? No. No way. Cordy came back to us from the Higher Realms for a reason, even if we don't know what it is yet. So the Powers wouldn't let her die, not like this. I'm sure of it," Angel said with utter conviction.

"Well, then, good luck finding her, champ. Because this is the point where I get off the carousel ride," Kate shrugged slightly. Off his surprised look, she added, "I've done what I set out to do, pal. Besides, I have an antiquities business to run – and a life to get back to. So I'm just gonna go inside and say goodbye to everyone, and then go home to get a good night's sleep. Call me if you need anything."

Angel just stared at her in flabbergasted surprise, before the beautiful blond quickly gave him a kiss on the cheek and then strode towards the hotel to say her farewells to the others. But then Kate stopped, turned around and said, "Oh, and by the way? Congratulations on the whole fatherhood thing you've got going with that Connor kid, even though I have _**no**_ idea how you managed to pull that off... "

* * *

 _A while earlier – Xander's apartment building, Sunnydale; early evening:_

Xander made his way home, kinda tired after a long day's work.

It had been very busy at T&P Contracting Supply today, and he knew that better than just about anyone. His boss (former, thankfully!) had been in a big hurry to pack his stuff and leave the Hellmouth as soon as he could; so much so, Harris figured the guy was worried that someone else might make a play for leadership of the Glendale satellite office. Which wasn't totally impossible, granted – Xander knew something about corporate politics nowadays, it was impossible to have gotten to his level in the company without that knowledge – but still, something like that was pretty unlikely.

When Mr. Peterson and Mr. Turner made a decision, they made a decision, after all.

He sighed. At least his predecessor had told him everything he needed to know before hightailing it outta town. So Xander figured that barring any sort of major catastrophe, he should be OK in terms of making sure everything kept running smoothly, at least for the foreseeable future.

 _{ Oh ye gods, now what did I have to go and think that for? I bet I just jinxed myself completely!_ } Xander thought to himself in dismay. Who knew what sort of disaster would strike now? It could be anything – from the new Assistant Junior VP he'd appointed today getting eaten by a vampire or a demon, to the Hellmouth itself opening up and spewing Hell's legions out onto the surface of the Earth.

Shrugging, he got out his keys and opened the front door –

"XANDER! Thank the Goddess you're finally here," Willow's nearly-frantic voice shrilled out, even before he could enter his apartment. "What took you so long to come home?!"

{ _Ah, right, here we go. I shoulda known – the jinxing couldn't possibly wait until tomorrow, oh no. Of course not; it has to start right now! Well, of course it does._ } Xander exhaled loudly and turned to stare at his red-haired best friend, as soon as he entered the apartment. "How about the fact that I have a job and a life that doesn't revolve solely around the Slayage, Will? I mean, _**someone**_ has to earn enough money for you guys to be able to pay the household bills, and Dawn tells me you're not slipping her any cash to put into Buffy's lock box the way I do."

Oops. He musta been even more tired than he thought; damn brain to mouth filter obviously wasn't working properly. And, ouch. That look on Willow's face – he hadn't seen anything like it since the night she'd caught him and Cordy kissing in the library stacks, back in their junior year of high school.

Hrmm. Maybe he could blame the outburst on his ex-girlfriend's influence lately? It might even be true.

"You, you, you-!" Willow stuttered, almost incoherent.

"What's wrong, Will?" Xander asked, before she could say anything else. "I mean, from the sounds of it, you've been waiting a while here for me to come home. So what's the dire?"

"I – it's Cordy," the witch said, now looking angry. "Earlier today, she found out something that was very upsetting to her. I've been keeping her company because of that, but now, tag – you're it." Willow abruptly turned and headed for the apartment's front door.

"So what upset her?" Xander asked, despite figuring he wasn't gonna get an answer from his best friend.

"You'll find out. Sorry, but I gotta go – after all, I've got to start figuring out ways to earn my own money. Because I wouldn't want you to keep acting as my pseudo-sugar daddy, or whatever!" Willow shouted, before slamming the door shut behind her.

{ _Hate it when I guess right that way. And the neighbors are_ _ **definitely**_ _gonna complain to the landlord, if they haven't already,_ } Xander thought despondently, as he made his way to Cordelia's bedroom. { _Damn. All the racket around here lately, it's a miracle I haven't been served with a 'please explain' yet. Guessin' it's just a matter of time, though. That's just the way my life seems to work, nowadays._ }

At that moment, Cordelia burst out of her room and brushed past him, heading towards the kitchen. She looked... angry. And lethal. Like something you'd see on the Discovery Channel, ready to devour its prey. "Cordy?"

She didn't reply, and Xander was forced to catch up with her. He grabbed hold of her shoulder and asked, "Cordelia, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong? What's _**wrong?!**_ " she turned around and screamed at him. "I'll tell you what's wrong! I learned today that I'm not human! Or at least, not completely! And if I hear even _**one**_ wiseass remark that you've known that for years, I'll kick you smack dab in the nuts, Xander – do you understand me?!"

The reflex was as automatic now as it had been back when they were six or seven years old. He instantly grabbed her into a tight hug, and even though she struggled against it for a moment, Cordelia quickly crumpled into his embrace. Xander quickly and silently thanked whatever gods were listening that his former girlfriend didn't turn into a crying, screaming, thrashing, wailing mess; he honestly wasn't sure he could cope with that right now.

{ _Long day. Oh yeah. Becoming even longer with every passing moment._ }

"Come on," Xander said, guiding Cordelia to the couch. He was pretty sure they needed to sit down for this conversation. "Tell me what happened. Sorry, Cor, but I am sans clue on what you're talkin' about."

"Willow didn't tell you?" Cordelia sniffed, briefly looking around. "Where is she, anyway?"

Xander shrugged. "She left. And before you ask why, five words or less? Me and my big mouth."

That brought the slight smile to her face that he was hoping for. Nowhere near Cordy's normal national TV commercial smile, of course – maybe a hundred watts instead of a thousand, if that; but at least he'd brought her out of her angry funk for a moment. { _Gotta take what you can get on the Hellmouth, after all._ }

Then she exhaled loudly, and the light in her eyes quickly vanished. She started talking, and Xander listened as Cordelia described what had happened in the Magic Box earlier today. The revelations that she was infected by some sorta 'dark virus' that was currently inactive, that it might not be possible to restore her memories without activating the latent infection, and that she was part-demon nowadays – all of it.

"Huh," Xander said, after Cordelia finally ground to a halt. "Yeah, I can see now why you'd be upset... "

"Well, duh!" Oops. Obviously, another case of foot in mouth, from the glare on her face. Definitely not doing so hot with the ladies today, like obviously.

{ _Huh. Cordy now looks_ _ **really**_ _pissed –_ }

"Are you paying any attention to me, Doofus? Or are you just staring at my tits, like you always used to when you thought I wasn't looking?" she demanded, her patented Death Glare aimed straight at him.

"Huh? Uh, no! Sorry, sweetheart. I was just – distracted. Evil thoughts, running through my head. Nothing to do with your ta-tas," he babbled. "Not that your breasts aren't worth staring at, of course, on account of they are, they _**so**_ are – I mean, your chest has got to be one of this country's national treasures. Always has been, always will be – "

"Focus, Dweeb!"

"OK, sure," Xander replied automatically, taking care to avoid staring at the odd combination of outraged annoyance and smug pride on Cordelia's face. He understood the value of surviving to see tomorrow's dawn, like almost any guy would under these circumstances.

Then he grew serious and said, "Um, so, on the amnesia front... guess we're on hiatus in trying to fix that, and getting you back to normal. Still, you probably picked up a lot over the past three days – and besides, you're Cordelia Chase. If anyone can gather up the pieces and start living her life again at this point, it's you. Right?"

She replied reluctantly, "I guess."

"And as for whatever it is you've been infected with, that 'dark virus' thing... you mentioned how Jonathan said you were physically fine right now, yeah?"

"Yeah, and Willow backed him up on that," Cordelia nodded.

"OK," Xander replied, nodding himself. "Then we just gotta be real careful on that front, too. Do that spell regularly from now on, and make sure that you _**stay**_ fine. Kinda like a mystical checkup, every so often."

"And the other part?" Cordelia asked, studying him closely.

"What other part?" Xander looked at her blankly.

"The demon thing, you IDIOT!" Cordelia yelled, glaring at him as he winced at the volume of her voice. "Didn't you hear me? Somehow, I've become part-demon! Did that _**fail**_ to register in your idiotic little Harris-shaped brain?"

"Nuh-uh, I heard you say that," Xander did his best to calm down. He reminded himself yet again that mentally, Cordelia was only seventeen years old, and so he had to be patient with her. "It's just, after everything that's happened since you left town – something like that? Doesn't really register on the old weird-o-meter anymore. Been there, done that territory; well, pretty much."

"Huh?" Cordelia looked like she honestly couldn't believe her ears.

"Yeah. I mean, few years back, Giles got transformed into a Fyarl demon for a while. And Ahn, switchin' back and forth between human and vengeance demon? Like I said, that sort of thing doesn't really register as a problem for me any longer," he shrugged.

"You really mean that? You? Mister I Hate Demons and Vampires?" she replied, incredulity in her tone.

"Me? Cordy, you're talkin' to the guy who almost married Anya, former demon who killed unfaithful men for over eleven hundred years," Xander shook his head. "Hey, don't get me wrong, I still hate vamps with a passion; but there _**are**_ demons which aren't evil in this town, I've met them. Guy named Clem, for example; he even sat down with my side of the family during the wedding that wasn't. Like I keep saying: lot of changes around here since high school."

"So, me no longer being completely human – that isn't a deal breaker as far as you're concerned, in terms of getting back together with me?" Cordy asked bluntly.

"Huh? Well, no – " Xander started to say.

Warm. Moist. Delicious. What – oh, yeah, Cordelia's lips and tongue. No, wait –

Cordy quickly made him lose that train of thought by the simple expedient of grabbing him tightly and kissing him harder, until his mind went completely blank. Kissing him senseless until he almost literally melted into her, moaning and panting with lust and desire.

Suddenly, Xander could remember why he'd wanted to carry this woman into his bedroom the previous night, and totally fuck her brains out...

"No, Cordy, wait – " he managed to splutter, after unlocking his lips from hers.

"I'm _**done**_ waiting, jackass," Cordy growled, like a lioness. Or a tigress. Or one of those big honkin' cats that look at you like you're a juicy piece of meat, one they'd like to gobble up as soon as possible. "Whatever the reason or excuse or logic for us to stop, forget it. Damn it, Xander, haven't we waited long enough since I came back to Sunnydale? I know _**I**_ have!"

"Well, guess you're gonna have to wait a while longer," an unfamiliar – yet not entirely so – male voice said, as both of them turned to stare at its source.

Something looking like Jesse McNally – the First Evil – was now standing there in the living room, not five feet away from where they were still wrapped up in each other's arms.

"Because now it's _**my**_ turn to say something," Jesse/the First said, smiling in a lopsided manner.

"About what?" Cordelia demanded, as she and Xander got up off the couch; even though she still maintained an iron grip on Xander's right hand.

Jesse/the First shrugged. "Oh, I dunno. How about the ethics of my best friend stealing my girl, after staking me in the Bronze that night?"

TBC…

* * *

A/N: Well, this is pretty awkward, huh? A certain Zeppo just can't seem to catch a break - unlike Angel's Avengers, now that the vampire in question has finally been returned to normal. We know a lot of you had suggestions about what to do with Soul Boy - the most amusing one was him getting locked up in a North Hollywood drunk tank, and bursting into flames once the sunlight came in through the window and hit Angel's unconscious body - but the guy's got plot armor, so to speak, so no could do. And Guest, your idea about Anya mistaking that mystical shadow for the image of a demonic bunny and accidentally destroying the Magic Box in her terror was kinda amusing, but unfortunately unfeasible. Well, at this particular time, anyway. :) So, we hope that you enjoyed the latest chapter - and please don't be shy in telling us what you thought of it!


	24. Chapter Twenty-three

**Chapter Twenty-three**

 _Wednesday, November 13, 2002 – Wolfram and Hart building, Los Angeles; late evening:_

Lilah Morgan was not in the best of moods, as she sat at her desk and went over the events of the past twenty-four hours.

First off, her personal assistant Gavin Park had been making a subtle nuisance of himself within the Special Projects division of the firm. Quite frankly, if she didn't need him to help run things smoothly around here, Gavin would have gotten his ass transferred to a third world dimension by now. Still, his days at the L.A. branch of Wolfram & Hart were numbered; Lilah figured that as soon as she trained a suitable replacement for the annoying weasel, the Asian man would find out just what playing hardball really meant.

Secondly, there was the disturbing news that Faith Lehane, formerly of the Northern California Women's Facility in Stockton, had been released thanks to a Presidential pardon of all things. Lilah knew that that particular development made her look weak, if not ineffectual; even if the blame lay squarely with the Washington branch of the firm, for not warning her about it in advance. Still, hopefully the Watcher's Council would murder that killer bitch soon enough, before Faith came back to L.A. looking for vengeance – given how Wolfram & Hart had bought the outcome of her murder trial, way back when.

(Personally, Lilah was glad she'd made sure the judge who'd presided over that so-called trial had been set on fire and killed, not long after the traitorous Slayer had been locked up in Stockton. No loose ends, and all that.)

And thirdly, there was Wesley. Her... not-boyfriend. Quite frankly, it was embarrassing to acknowledge how she hadn't been able to pick up on the subtle clues the other night, while the man was thinking that he was seventeen years old again. Not that Lilah minded playing Mrs. Robinson every once in a while, granted; but that sort of thing took place strictly on _**her**_ terms, not anyone else's. Still, the way Wes had fucked her, once his memories had been restored...

Her cell phone chirped, and with a smile, Lilah answered it. "Hello, lover."

«Hello? Lilah?»

"Thanks for returning my calls, finally," she replied, with a hint of sarcasm in her tone. "I left three messages. No need for you to feel obligated to return any of them."

«Yes, well, you don't have to worry about that.» Wesley's voice said, and Lilah felt a sudden chill run down her spine. «Unfortunately, I've been busy since last night, after you stormed out of my apartment.»

"Doing what?"

«Talking to various people. Both here and in London. That's part of the reason why I'm in New York right now.» the British man's voice replied, and that sinking feeling in Lilah's stomach got worse. «And I'm glad you called, actually. Because I've come to the conclusion that I can't keep seeing you any longer.»

"WHAT?!" Lilah yelled into her cell, somehow resisting the urge to crush the phone in her hand. "Why?"

«Because I can't do this anymore.» Wesley's voice said regretfully. «Lilah? There's a line between right and wrong, good and evil. Granted, that line has become more than a little fuzzy for me over the past six months; but after what happened thanks to Lorne's spell, I've realized – »

"Stop. I don't need to hear anything more. God, I can't believe this! You're breaking up with me over the phone, you pathetic creep? You don't even have the guts to do it directly to my face?" Lilah hissed angrily into her cell.

«Lilah. Breaking up would imply that we were ever in a real relationship, in the first place.» Wesley's voice now had a more ragged edge to it. «Let's be honest, our... liaisons were basically two people rutting like animals – apart from the one time when I had no idea who you were, perhaps. Hardly the stuff of a normal, healthy affair of the heart, you must admit.»

"You son of a bitch," Lilah growled at him, even though she couldn't help wondering why. Emotional bonds were something she couldn't afford to have as the head of Special Projects, she knew that; otherwise, Wesley would have become a weakness that her enemies could exploit, long before now. Still, actually hearing such words coming out of the man's mouth was something she found upsetting –

«Please don't insult my mother that way. She's a good woman, one who probably should never have married my father in the first place. Insult _him_ if you wish, but not her.» Wesley's voice said roughly. «Look, Lilah, I won't deny that I've made mistakes – »

"You're making another one now," Lilah interrupted, hating the needy sound of her own voice. "A big one."

«Really? Well, perhaps you're right. It would have been best to do this in person, if I'd had the opportunity.» Wesley's voice now sounded a bit regretful. «However, I didn't think stringing you along like that was the appropriate thing to do; so for better or worse, I made my choice on how to end it. And I don't think there's anything left for us to say to one another; so I'm afraid this is goodbye, Lilah.»

"Yeah, whatever. See you in Hell, asshole!" Lilah angrily hit the End button, and then finally giving in to temptation, she threw the cell phone into the wall, muttering vile curses upon the man whom she was no longer sharing a bed with.

* * *

 _The same time – JFK International Airport, Queens, New York City; evening:_

Wesley put his cell phone back in his pocket, ignoring the concerned voice in the back of his head warning him that he ought to be careful; because 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.' He had far too much else on his mind, right now.

After that international phone call with Nigel Ahuja last night, he had come to realize that there really was more to life than just being a bit player in the grand Angel saga within Los Angeles. Quite frankly, Wesley had been astonished to learn just what was happening in the world he had once eagerly been part of; such as the planet-wide slaughter of Potential Slayers, thanks to the Harbingers of the First Evil. So he had started asking questions, only some of which Travers' right-hand man had been able to answer –

And when he'd heard that the Council had lost contact with Mrs. Clayworth, the Watcher assigned to a Potential named Kennedy Greene in New York, Nigel's request that he check out the situation on the other side of the country had – for some reason – sounded like a good idea. What with all the regular field teams here in the colonies pursuing missing Potentials right now, Wesley could understand how an independent agent like him would be the most logical resource for the Council to use in this situation – after informing him that Faith had been released from jail.

(In his darkest heart of hearts, Wesley couldn't help hoping that somehow, that particular girl would get what she deserved soon enough. Still, he wasn't planning to ever look Faith up to return the favor, after she'd tortured him. That part of his life was over and done with, and good riddance to it.)

Grabbing his travel bag, Wes departed out the doors of JFK's Terminal 7 and quickly headed for the nearest taxi.

"Where to?" the cabbie asked cheerfully, starting the engine after he got into the back seat of the vehicle.

"Morningside Heights neighborhood of Manhattan, please. Corner of Broadway and 112th Street," Wesley replied.

"Right. Gonna take a while, though, traffic is gonna be a real bitch. Always is, around now. So you're English, huh?" the taxi driver said, as the vehicle headed off down the terminal ring road and towards the Van Wyck Expressway.

"Yes. I suppose it's evident from the accent?" Wesley asked, lifting an eyebrow. It had been quite a while since anyone had asked him that, oddly enough.

"Yeah, but not so much – you've been living here a few years, I can tell. The tourists, their accents are a lot thicker," the cabbie began to chatter nonstop, as the taxi hit the JFK Expressway. "And it's not just them. I got this one bunch from London recently; they came in for some convention at the Drake, hotel over on East Fifty-sixth. And you wanna know they had in their possession? Enema bags! Said that they were the latest thing in Europe, they had transistors in 'em and everything. I couldn't believe it! Still, whether they were shittin' me or not, they were damn fine tippers... "

{ _Curse you, Ahuja, what kind of fiendish torture have I let you talk me into?_ } Wesley thought to himself wearily, closing his eyes and leaning back into the cab's rear passenger seat.

Nearly half an hour later, the taxi emerged from the Queens-Midtown Tunnel and onto the steamy streets of Manhattan. The driver kept jabbering away as they headed in the general direction of Columbia University; Wesley's lack of enthusiasm for conversation didn't seem to bother the Noo Yawker in the slightest, and the cabbie easily maintained a running commentary on all the things Wesley should see while he was in town. Such as the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, and Madison Square Garden...

"OK, we're here," the taxi driver abruptly slammed down on the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a screeching halt. "That'll be fifty-two bucks."

Wearily, Wesley paid the man and got out of the vehicle, before the driver roared off in search of another fare. Stretching slightly, he looked around before making his way across the street to Tom's Restaurant. He entered, ordered a cup of coffee and then retreated to the diner's bathroom, clutching his travel bag tightly.

(Praise the Lord for that spell which was able to fool X-ray machines and metal detectors. It made air travel with weaponry _**so**_ much easier.)

Making sure he was alone, Wes retrieved his .45 pistol and tucked it into the back of his pants. He then retrieved the gauntlet containing his collapsible sword, and reattached it to his right forearm. The Englishman ignored the annoying memory of what had happened in Angel's hotel with this weapon, back on Sunday night; he just exited the bathroom, grabbed a booth for himself and waited for the Potential Slayer to show up.

Eventually, Kennedy did so.

To Wesley's eye, the nineteen-year-old girl looked like a bit of a mess. It was evident she'd been crying, and the waitress who served her immediately asked what was wrong. He overheard Kennedy say that Mrs. Clayworth was dead, that the girl's Watcher had been murdered in her own home; knifed in the back, according to the police report.

{ _Damn and blast it,_ } Wesley thought to himself in annoyance, { _that'll only complicate things..._ }

He suddenly noticed Kennedy looking in his direction, before she hurried out of Tom's Restaurant. Hesitating for less than a moment, Wes went up to the main counter, tossed a five dollar bill at the woman to pay for his coffee, and then departed without waiting for his change.

"Miss Greene! Might I have a moment of your time, please?!" Wesley called out, and straightaway the dark-haired girl stopped and turned around, glaring at him.

"Who the hell are you?" Kennedy demanded belligerently, hands on hips. "And how do you know who I am?"

"The name's Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. And as for the other part, a man named Nigel Ahuja in England asked me to find you and your so-called tutor. He's an associate of Mrs. Clayworth," Wes replied, coming closer.

Her suspicions slightly abated, Kennedy looked around, making sure no one was within earshot before she asked, "You a Watcher?"

"Not anymore," Wes shrugged. "I'm merely doing Mr. Ahuja a favor, so to speak. Apparently, the Council lost contact with Mrs. Clayworth some time ago – "

"The cops said she's been dead for the past three days," Kennedy interrupted him, looking like she was ready to start crying again. "I've been away with my sister and my parents, we only just got back to town from our place in the Hamptons and then I learned... " she trailed off, miserably.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Miss Greene," Wes said sympathetically. "However, there's something I must tell you; that you yourself are in deadly danger. Mrs. Clayworth was almost certainly not the primary target for that attack; they were after you, instead."

"What?! Mister, what the hell are you talking about?" Kennedy demanded fiercely.

"Not here," Wesley shook his head. "May I suggest we discuss this somewhere more private? I'd imagine you'd want your parents to hear what I have to say, as well – "

"Oh, what the heck?" Kennedy interrupted, her focus on something behind him. Wesley turned around, and paled at the sight of three robed and hooded men – or man-like beings, anyway – heading straight towards them. "Halloween was like over and done with, two weeks ago! Why are they – "

"Run," Wes told the brunette Potential, cutting her off. "If you've got a car, drive home and lock the doors behind you. I'll keep them busy; and if I survive, I'll come find you at your parents' house. Now GO!"

Kennedy didn't hesitate; she rushed off down 112th Street towards her Mustang. Wesley reached for his pistol with one hand and activated his hidden sword with the other, as the three Bringers brought out their curved knives and started running straight for him, right there on the sidewalk –

* * *

 _A while earlier – Xander's apartment building, Sunnydale; early evening:_

Xander stared blankly at Jesse/the First while Cordelia screamed, "I know it's not really you, McNally, but I'm gonna say it anyway – I was never your girl, you pathetic little _**schmuck!**_ "

"Did anyone ever tell you you're gorgeous, when you get so angry?" the eldritch horror smirked at her. "Beautiful. Stunning. Heck, your smile could light up all of New York City after dark. Pity how the luscious outer coating hides such an ugly heart, though. I mean, 'I aspire to help my fellow man. Check. As long as he's not smelly, dirty or something gross.' Sound familiar?"

"Calm down, Cor," Xander said, squeezing her hand and causing her to look at him. "It's just trying to screw with you, that's all." After she took a deep breath and nodded, Xander turned back to face the enemy wearing the face of his one-time best friend. "So. You're the First. Uh, you _**do**_ know you're not fooling either of us looking like him, don't you? I mean, both Cordy and I know what you are – "

"'Course you do. 'Specially you, bud, you're a lot smarter than everybody ever gives you credit for. You see everything, while just 'bout everyone around you is blind. But while you've been seeing everything, I've been seeing you." Jesse/the First grinned broadly. "Ever since the night you helped bring Buffy back from the dead, matter of fact."

"Buffy?" Cordelia frowned. "What's she got to do with this?"

"Didn't anyone tell you, babe?" Jesse/the First smirked. "She's the reason I'm able to manifest on this plane without my Bringers summoning me, like back in the good old days. You remember, when you were skiing in Aspen – while your ex-boyfriend here was busy trying to help the Slayer save Angel's un-life? Oh, wait, that's right. You _**don't**_. That must really suck for you, huh?"

"What are you talking about?" Xander asked, staring at the enemy while Cordy silently glared at it.

The First Evil simply shrugged. "What's happening now, me having the power to end it all, destroy the world 'n all that shit? The Slayer caused it, Xand. And that's all I have to say to say about the subject." Jesse/the First then turned to stare at Cordelia. "Ya know, sweetness, I warned you last night what'd happen if you stayed in this stinking cesspit of a town. But you just wouldn't listen, would you? Still, guess that's not too surprising. You never did listen to anyone's warnings about your cheater ex here – "

"Screw that whole 'ex' thing, asshole. Xander's mine again, now; and this time, we're gonna make it work," Cordelia declared, causing Harris to glance at her briefly.

"Aww, young love. Brings a tear to my eye," the fake 'Jesse' smirked. Then he/it turned to Xander and said, "Say, am I the only one who thinks what happened that night with the rebar was just a little too farfetched to buy? I mean, honestly, bud. Was it really pure luck that Oz was driving around Sunnydale's streets – and then _**bingo**_ , he somehow caught a stray whiff of Willow that way? Sure, the whole werewolf nose thing, but – he was never able to do that before, or even after, that night. And nobody ever found that – odd? And then later, Oz and Cordy showing up in that basement, just as you and Will were locking lips together? Hrmm, you never thought 'bout how that was like the _**worst**_ timing ever? Not to mention, what were the odds of Queen C running away and falling through those stairs to get impaled that way? 'Cause the Cordelia Chase _**I**_ knew woulda rushed over and knocked your teeth out for betraying her like that, before she started tearing out Willow's hair – just like she tried to do last night." The First then morphed into 'Kendra', startling him if not Cordelia.

"So, what are you saying? That all that was... planned, somehow?" the Seer demanded hotly.

"Ding, ding, ding! We have a winnah," Kendra/the First said, even if the words sounded kinda funny spoken in that thick Jamaican accent. "After all – dey say dat once may be happenchance, twice may be coincidence, but t'ree times is definitely enemy action – "

"So who did it?" Xander interrupted, his voice now as cold as an Arctic blizzard. "Not that I believe a single word I'm hearing from you, obviously; but you've gotten my interest now, First-y. You implying all that wasn't just me and Will being unable to control our hormones? So let's hear the rest of it; who was responsible?"

"Now dat would be telling," Kendra/the First said, smirking slightly. Then she/it morphed into the image of Richard Wilkins. "This isn't high school anymore, young man. I'm afraid you don't get all the answers on a silver platter. I mean, gosh, where's the fun in that?"

Xander shook his head. "Ya know, I can't help wondering why you suddenly decided to look like him. Was it to remind me of Faith? How I failed to stop her from being seduced by the Dark Side of the Force? Hrmm. Tried to tempt Faith into joining you yet? And if you have, exactly how long did it take for her to tell you to go fuck yourself?"

"Golly, young man. That's not only _**completely**_ inappropriate language to use in front of a lady, but quite a bit of speculation, you know! How can you be so sure I didn't recruit that particular firecracker to my banner?" Mayor Wilkins/the First asked, putting an affable smile on his/its face.

"Because I know Faith, I went and spoke to her on Sunday. And you... " Xander trailed off, suddenly feeling alarmed. "Oh, crap. Wait, wait, wait – you're trying to _**distract**_ us! Something's happening, or- or about to happen – and you don't want us to get involved in whatever it is that's about to happen! _**That's**_ why you're here, making with the pointless conversation!"

Richard Wilkins/the First sighed regretfully. "Like I said, son, you're the one that sees everything. And my goodness, but I'm beginning to think maybe – just maybe – I really did choose the wrong horse way back when, trying to get Angel to commit suicide. I should have gotten rid of _**you**_ instead! Ah well, never mind; spilt milk, and all that... "

The First vanished with a short burst of white light – Xander couldn't help making the comparison to _Star Trek_ in his mind, the way that Q used to tease Captain To Baldly Go that way – but then, there was no time for any further thought, as a trio of Bringers broke in through the front door, charging into the apartment.

"CORDY! RUN!" Xander yelled at her, before launching himself at the knife-wielding enemy. He could only hope he'd be able to buy her enough time to escape death at their hands; Xander already knew the only way he was leaving the apartment after _**this**_ battle was in a coroner's body bag –

The three Bringers easily handled his attack, though, despite being blind with those rune-inscribed, mutilated eyes. One of them casually tossed Xander aside, with almost effortless ease; and raising those curved silver daggers, his two comrades immediately headed for Cordelia, who was absolutely rooted to the spot out of fear, and concern for him –

– when a miracle took place, in the form of an invisible guardian angel.

 _ **Something**_ grabbed hold of the two Bringers about to kill Cordelia, and violently twisted their necks. Both corpses collapsed to the floor, immediately. The third Bringer looked around, looking like it was unable to understand what had just happened; but then one of the silver knives rose up from the floor, and embedded itself directly into his heart in a rushed blur of motion. He, too, subsequently collapsed onto the floor, thoroughly dead.

"Eowawa! Thus do we do in the Jungle!" Xander quipped on instinct, staggering to his feet before rushing over to Cordelia. He had no idea what had just happened, but as long as she was still alive and unharmed, right now he didn't _**care**_. "Cordy! Are you OK?"

"Yeah, I – wait. How did you _**do**_ that, Harris?" she demanded, all huge eyes and quivering lips and heaving bosom.

"Wasn't me, Cor." Xander grabbed and hugged her tightly, wanting to reassure himself that she was all right. "No idea what just happened, but as long as they're dead and we're not? Definitely not gonna complain about it!"

"Yeah, I guess... "

Xander suddenly realized that the hug has lasted longer than two Mississippi's – more like five, if not longer – and he attempted to disengage. But Cordelia wasn't about to stand for that, and she refused to let go. And then her lips found his and –

{ _Oh, God. This girl definitely knows how to kiss!_ }

Not to mention, exactly how to turn him on. The tower quickly became erect within his pants, as she hungrily attempted to devour his mouth.

Cordelia Chase was definitely an acquired taste, but once you acquired it...

High-maintenance girlfriend, but so _**definitely**_ worth every moment spent on her.

Why the _**hell**_ hadn't he tried harder to win her back after Senior Prom, when they'd finally done the dance with no pants? Not to mention afterwards as well, both occasions they'd had sex again. The odds were that he'd have proposed to her instead of Anya that night, and without Stewart what's-his-name showing up – right now, she'd be Cordelia Chase- _Harris_ –

Wait. Something wasn't right here. What was it-? Oh, yeah. Duh.

"Cordy, stop," Xander managed to gasp out, pulling his lips away from hers. "There, there could be more of them, incoming! I think we better get outta here... "

The brunette growled at him, looking upset. But then Cordelia let go and stepped back. She opened her mouth, most likely to verbally tear him a new one –

But then she started glowing. Literally. Her eyes went completely white, and her mouth hung open in a perfect 'O' shape.

Harris started reaching out towards her, but then Cordelia ceased glowing with white light, and her eyes returned to their normal hazel color.

"Oh my God... " Cordy shook her head, before she looked back at him. She saw the unspoken concern on his face and said, "I'm OK, Doofus. Just a bit... overwhelmed."

"So," Xander said, dropping his arm and amazed at how normal his voice sounded. "That was a vision, huh?"

"Yeah. Same as the one last night, at the restaurant – but never mind that! Xander – I just saw Spike. I saw him kill someone, a woman!" the Seer semi-shrieked.

{ _Well,_ _ **crap**_ _. There goes any faint hope I had that Webs was a big old liar as a vamp._ } Grimly, Xander rushed to his weapons store, grabbed a few things – a cross and a couple of stakes, the shotgun was still downstairs in the trunk of his car – and said to Cordelia, "You know where to go?"

She nodded fervently. "I saw the street signs, it's an alley near the Promenade. C'mon, let's go – or that woman's gonna die!" Cordy yelled anxiously.

Barely taking the time to lock the front door behind them, Sunnydale's newest couple went tearing out of the apartment – leaving behind the corpses of the three Bringers.

And unbeknownst to them, the ghost whom Cordelia used to affectionately call 'Phantom Dennis' –

* * *

 _A moment later – the same place; early evening:_

Amy growled to herself, as she appeared out of the shadows in Xander's apartment. { _I don't have time for this – damn it, that Skip guy is starting to get a clue, and it's getting harder and harder to keep him distracted!_ } "Dennis?"

The lights flickered briefly in acknowledgement.

"Open all the windows, will you? This is really gonna stink up the place," she sighed.

Right on cue, the ghost did as he was bid; and wasting no time, Amy incinerated all three bodies on the floor.

The stench was even _**worse**_ than she'd imagined.

"Friggin' cleanup detail. Whistler, I'm really starting to wonder whether you did me a favor getting me out of that basement, way back when!" Amy growled all over again, before she quickly vanished.

* * *

 _The same time – Sunnydale High School, Sunnydale; early evening:_

Buffy paced around the seal of Danzalthar, before looking around at Jonathan. "All right. Let's go through this again; how did you know this thing was here?"

Levinson shrugged. "Don't wanna sound like Martin Luther King, Buffy, but I had a dream. So did Andrew – or so he said, anyway. Right now, I don't know if I can trust _any_ thing he told me since the dreams started."

"So you came back to town and dug it up. Fine. What did you expect _**me**_ to do about it?" Buffy demanded heatedly.

"Well, I was kinda hoping you'd know how to destroy it," he shrugged again. "That thing is evil, you can tell just by looking at it!"

Buffy clenched her fists, looking angry. "Great. Typical, even. Just dump the whole problem into _**my**_ lap, why don't you? Jeez, Jonathan, it's no wonder we never wanted you in the Scooby Gang!"

Levinson ignored the insult. "I don't know what else to tell you, Buffy. No idea what it is you want to hear, even."

"Right now, I'm wanting you and Andrew out of my life! Like I don't already have enough problems, what with – "

"Spike?" Jonathan interrupted. "Yeah, I know. And I swear – that guy used to give me nightmares, chip or otherwise. Started all the way back during that memorable Parent-Teacher Night, actually."

"Huh?" Buffy turned to look at him in surprise. "What? Jonathan... you _**know**_ Spike? Since junior year?"

"Uh, no; 'cause I way heard it, back then he was free-range evil, and no way I wanted to get within a mile of anyone like that! But later on – sure. I mean, last year, Spike showed up in our lair that one time."

"What?"

"Yeah, he got Warren to check him out, when that vampire thought his chip wasn't working anymore. I mean, Andrew and I were both there, we talked to him... " He trailed off, seeing the look of shock on the Slayer's face. "Um, not wanting to get you upset, but – what's wrong?"

"What's wrong? What's _**wrong?**_ I'll tell you what's wrong – Spike! Spike actually knew about you three jerks?!" Buffy screamed, causing Jonathan to take a step back. "Why the _**hell**_ didn't he ever say anything to me about it? I don't freaking believe this! If he'd just _**said**_ something last year, that whole thing with Tara and Black Magic Willow never woulda happened, I'd have tracked you three down and dealt with Warren before he – "

"Uh, no, wait – hang on," Jonathan said, breaking into her rant. "Um, I'm pretty sure that at the time, Spike didn't know we were your nemises-es. He, he just came to Warren for information about the chip, 'cause he knew him from before; that whole Buffybot thing?"

"Oh," Buffy said in a more subdued voice, quickly calming down. "Right. Yeah, I get it now. Sorry for snapping at you like that, I guess, it's just – "

"You think he's killing people again," Jonathan nodded. "And there's some issues there, 'cause you two were sleeping together last year. I get it."

"Do you? 'Cause I don't," Buffy said forlornly. "I mean, he tried to – Spike almost violated me in a way I never imagined was possible! OK, maybe it wasn't entirely his fault how he didn't realize that 'no' actually meant _**no**_ for once, but still. And then he went off and won his soul back – for me. Drove him crazy, apparently, but like Xander said the other night, Spike seems pretty much fine now. So I can't help wondering, Jonathan – how much of it was real, and how much was just an act? Especially if he's started killing again... "

Jonathan frowned. "I thought that Willow wasn't able to find any dead people recently who were the victims of a barbecue fork serial killer?"

"No. Just missing persons, ten of them. All of them young women," Buffy replied, looking away.

"I – what was that noise?" Jonathan asked, looking towards the basement door.

"Damn it, it's probably one of the security guards on patrol. Let's go!" She abruptly grabbed the geek by the wrist and dragged him away. The last thing she wanted was to be discovered on the school grounds after hours, without any reasonable excuse for her presence.

Buffy knew that she needed this job Principal Wood had given her, there was no _**way**_ that she wanted to work at Doublemeat Palace again – or even Fatburger, or the local In 'N Out...

* * *

 _A short while later – alley near the Sunnydale Promenade, Sunnydale; evening:_

Spike smiled, leading the young blond woman into the deserted alley. After a long day's sleep in the abandoned house that used to belong to the whelp's parents, he felt better about his situation than he did last night. And after taking a walk to clear his head and decide what to do next in his un-life, he'd run into – well, he couldn't quite remember her name, after they'd laid eyes on one another outside that club and started talking just now...

The blond giggled. "What – are you gonna make me guess why you brought me here? All right, I'll bite." They stopped walking and embraced, face to face. "I'll guess you're a little bit bad, huh?" she asked, before kissing him.

"Time was I was the Big Bad and proud of it, luv," Spike replied with a smile, after their lips parted.

"So, I was kinda right? Are you a bad boy? 'Cause I don't mind if you are. You know, I was getting pretty bored waiting over there in that line." The woman nuzzled him, adding, "I hate waiting. Know what I mean?"

Spike nodded, bending down to kiss her neck – when he looked up and saw Buffy not far away, just standing there. His eyes widened in surprise.

"You know you want it. You know I want you to," the image of the Slayer said, smiling at him.

{ _What?_ } Spike asked himself, feeling – odd.

"SPIKE! GET AWAY FROM HER!" a familiar male voice shouted angrily, causing him to blink and the young co-ed to let go and step away from his embrace.

"Who are you two, and what the hell do you want? This is a private party!" the bint said angrily, before turning back to face him. "You know these people?"

William the Bloody groaned, and nodded briefly. "My ex-roommate, and his latest bird. And what the effin' hell are you on about, Harris? Why should I get away from her?"

"We know that chip doesn't work anymore, Bleach Boy. And besides – I had a vision of you killing this woman, just now!" the Cheerleader yelled angrily, glaring at the vampire.

"Chip? Vision? Are you seriously spaced?" the blond co-ed asked incredulously, before turning back to Spike. "So, is that why you and this guy quit sharing an apartment? The crazy new girlfriend?"

"Hey! Lady, we're _**trying**_ to save your life – although right now, I'm seriously tempted to just walk away, and let Spike kill you!" The brunette's glare could almost melt steel, she was looking _**that**_ pissed right now.

Spike looked at her in confusion. "Look, woman, I'm not out to kill anybody. All right, kinda tempted to make an exception for _**you**_ if that chip ever stops working, but – bloody hell, I can barely live with what I did. It haunts me. All of it. So if you think that I'd start adding to the body count now, you are _**completely**_ daft!"

"Add to the body count?" The co-ed's eyes were now very wide, and she rapidly distanced herself from him. "What the hell are you... "

"So, then – you went strolling along the Promenade tonight looking for someone like her, why exactly? You were just hungry for conversation, and maybe a bit of making out? Huh. Spike, why do I find _**that**_ kinda hard to believe?" the whelp asked sarcastically.

'Buffy' abruptly morphed into Warren, or at least his mirror image. "They're upsetting the plan. Especially the cheerleader. Nothing's according to specs anymore, thanks to her being here."

Spike looked in Warren's direction and said firmly, "You are not here."

"Who are you talking to?" the co-ed asked timidly, looking ready to bolt at any moment.

"Go ahead and bleed that stupid bitch dry, dude. You know you want to," Spike heard Warren say, before the guy started singing, "Early one morning... "

* * *

 _A moment later – the same place; evening:_

Xander was definitely starting to feel concerned by this point.

The confrontation with Spike certainly wasn't going the way he'd expected it to, he had to admit. Xander figured that, like it or not, he knew Captain Peroxide pretty well by now; at least well enough to know whenever the vamp was trying to lie to him, anyway. So, much to his chagrin, a smidgen of doubt over the validity of Cordelia's warning entered his mind, after accusing the British vamp of being a killer again –

But that doubt was replaced with concern, after Spike started talking to someone who was apparently invisible. He figured most likely the vampire's high school basement crazy was suddenly flaring up again, and talk about the inconvenient timing there –

Xander's instincts instantly started screaming warnings, though, the moment Spike started humming to himself – and then the vampire transformed into his demon face, growling and heading for Cordelia and himself.

"Oh, hell, _**no!**_ " he heard an icy, inhumanly beautiful voice from right beside him say.

Suddenly, everything went white.

There were blurry, inky shapes in his vision as Xander blinked rapidly to clear it, and he did so just in time to spot an incandescent bolt of _**something**_ smashing directly into Spike's chest.

The snarling, demonic-looking vampire was instantly gone, vanished, not even a hint of dust remaining nor the sound of a hissing demon being sent back to Hell – before the co-ed started screaming and she ran out of the alley, as fast as her legs could carry her.

Cordy's eyes morphed back to their normal hazel color, she ceased to glow with white light – and then she dropped bonelessly to the ground, out cold.

Xander wasted no time in scooping her up, and carrying the Seer out of the alley –

{ _No, no, no! Don't you dare die on me, honey, 'cause I'll never forgive you for it. Never ever!_ } he thought to himself desperately. { _God, please, I can't lose her, not now. Not like this..._ }

* * *

 _A moment later – the same place; evening:_

Whistler appeared out of the shadows, staring at where Spike had been standing barely a few moments ago. He suddenly remembered the night when the Vision Girl had ascended to the Higher Realms, and that nightmarish vision of the future he'd had –

Especially the big finale six months from now, the role which the British vampire would have played in getting rid of all the Turok-Han and sealing the Hellmouth. Not to mention what he'd have gotten up to, afterwards – annoying his grandsire for a year or so, before the big showdown with the Circle of the Black Thorn –

"Sorry, Blood Breath. But that whole thing with the seal and those über-vamps, Powers have decided it's not going to go down that way anymore. Plus, that suicidal crap with the Circle is no longer an option, and you simply weren't needed to play the role of Angel's sidekick in L.A.," he shrugged. "And what the hell, your sacrifice tonight won't be in vain – in terms of getting the blondie Slayer really motivated to battle against the First, anyway. At least, I certainly hope it works out that way!"

TBC…

* * *

A/N: Err, we **did** say that someone was going to die in this twisted version of _Sleeper_ a few chapters ago, right? Sorry to all the Spike fans out there reading this fic, but it turned out to be him. Just the way the cookie crumbled, so to speak! Our regrets to all the Weslah fans out there as well, but that 'ship ended early in this AU on account of certain plot developments.

What do you all think, should Wesley and Lilah somehow reconcile? Assuming he survives that fight against the Bringers, of course. Should Cordelia fall into a mystical coma after saving both her life and Xander's? Should Amy finally demand better wages and perks for going above and beyond that way? Should Phantom Dennis play a bigger role in this tale? And how should a stressed Buffy react to hearing what happened to Spike? Please tell us what you think, and thanks as always for reading!


	25. Chapter Twenty-four

**Chapter Twenty-four**

 _Wednesday, November 13, 2002 – the main lobby of the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; a few hours before midnight:_

Angel returned home, looking and feeling worn out. Because he had just spent the last few hours paying his 'debt' to the Transuding Furies, regarding that locator spell Kate and the others had used to find him. It had occurred to him to say no to their summons, that right now he was busy – but then he'd remembered just who he was dealing with, and so he had quickly shut up and screwed the three sisters senseless in order to settle the bill.

"Man. No offense, Angel, but you look like crap," Gunn said way too bluntly, as soon as he spotted the vampire. "So, y'all managed to pony up?"

"Yeah," Angel grunted, not wanting to discuss the topic. "So, what's been happening around here?"

"Uh, basically, a whole lot of nothing," Fred shrugged.

"'Fraid she's right, Corn Muffin," Lorne nodded. "I mean, we spent the last three days looking for you and Cordy-kins. Bottom line, we're out of ideas; anything and everything we could come up with before now, we've already done it. I'm thinking we need your input, try to get a fresh perspective on where the heck she might have gone."

"All right." Angel started to pace slightly. He turned to look at his crew and asked, "Who was the last person to see her?"

"Me, I guess," Connor shrugged, as he turned to look at his boy. "It was the night of the spell, after Cordelia was attacked by a street gang. I saved her from them – and then she attacked me – "

Fred coughed. "Leaving out a bit of detail, aren't you?" she then asked, before staring at the young man meaningfully.

Connor glared at her, briefly. "Fine, at the time I didn't understand what was going on with her – so I grabbed Cordelia by the wrist, in order to take her home to our loft. She started screaming and yelling at me, and hitting me, and then those two cops showed up. Afterwards, I had to run for it in order to escape."

Angel frowned. "So, then, if the LAPD was involved – "

"We already talked to them, both on the phone and in person at the local stationhouse," Gunn cut him off at once. "Ain't nobody there who knows where she is, man. Only thing they got related to Barbie is the Miracle Kid here now being wanted for stalking, attempted kidnapping and stealing her stuff." The black man gestured towards Connor, who scowled viciously. "Not to mention breaking and entering at that museum."

"It's OK, son. We'll, we'll get that fixed – somehow," Angel promised his offspring. "Don't know how yet, exactly; but I promise you, Connor, we will."

"Whatever," the male teen shrugged, looking indifferent to the whole thing. "We need to focus on Cordelia. Finding her."

"Finally, something we can all agree on," Lorne nodded, before turning to Angel. "And before you ask, ya big hunk of hero sandwich, I got nothing; the entire clan has already sung for me – apart from you. So, wanna give it a shot?"

"Aw, man, does he have to?" Gunn complained, earning himself a sharp jab to the side thanks to Fred's elbow. "Ow!"

Angel ignored him and said to Lorne, "Just a moment." He looked down at the floor and idly started humming Beethoven's _Ode To Joy_ , before opening his mouth –

"Whoa!" Lorne held up his hands in a universal 'stop' gesture. "No need to go any further, seriously. Wowzers! I just saw it, clear as day. You need to walk out the front door, and take a hike down Hyperion Avenue in the direction of Fremont. Few minutes from now, you'll run into the very same police officers that our Pylean Princess and the Destroyer of Quor-toth here encountered on Sunday night. So go, go!"

Connor immediately got up to follow him, but Angel quickly moved into his path and said, "Connor, wait – "

"What for?" his son growled angrily.

"You can't go out there with him," Fred pointed out the obvious. "You're on the lam now, remember?"

"On the lam? What does that mean?" Connor demanded, still scowling.

"Means the cops see you, odds are they'll shoot first and ask questions later," Gunn told him pragmatically. "And you may be a lot of things, but you sure as hell ain't bullet-proof."

"They're right, son. I'm sorry, but you can't help me on this one," Angel said apologetically.

"I can take of myself. And I can deal with those two police officers, if I have to," Connor insisted stubbornly.

"How?" Fred demanded. "By kidnapping them, and torturing them for information?"

"Fred," Angel started to say dismissively.

"If all else fails, why not?" Connor demanded angrily, and then he frowned at all the looks he was getting. "Why are you people looking at me like that?"

"Uh, because demon here, and even _**I**_ know that was the stupidest possible thing you could have said?" Lorne replied, seemingly unaffected by the boy's glare.

"Connor... I know you're upset, and worried about Cordy. But something like that – not an option," Angel told his son carefully. "I mean, think about it. Actions have consequences, and in this case, the LAPD will _**never**_ stop looking for you. You'll be a hunted man for the rest of your days; and what kind of life could you offer Cordelia, under those circumstances? Plus, you really think she would approve of your actions? I think we both know the answer to that one... "

"Fine," Connor replied grouchily, shoulders slumping. But then his son straightened up and frowned at him. "All right, go. But first, you have to promise me something."

"Anything, son. What is it?"

"Swear to me – by everything you hold sacred – that if you learn anything from those cops, you'll come back here and tell us before you do anything else. Like, if they tell you where she is or where she went that night, promise me that you won't go rushing off to find Cordelia all by yourself," Connor demanded.

Angel stared at his son and said hesitantly, "Connor, I – "

"This is _**not**_ negotiable!" the teenager growled at him, easily able to tell that he didn't want to promise any such thing.

"Look, son, truth is – I don't like making promises that I don't know if I can keep. So please, don't ask me to do that," Angel said honestly, feeling torn between his desire to strengthen the connection with his boy and his need to find Cordelia as soon as possible.

"Fine. In that case, I'm gonna follow you as soon as you walk out that door. 'Cause in case it isn't obvious, I don't trust you where Cordelia's concerned," Connor said stubbornly.

{ _Was I ever like this when I was Connor's age?_ } Angel thought to himself wearily, before recent memories returned with a vengeance. { _Yeah, stupid question. I was even_ _ **worse**_ _..._ }

"Hate to bug you about this, Tall Pale and Handsome, but you really need to get going; as in, right now-ish," Lorne interjected, gesturing towards the door. "You miss this little appointment with Destiny, and it won't end well for you. For any of us, I'm afraid."

"What's that mean?" Gunn wanted to know.

"I don't know, exactly," Lorne shrugged, "I didn't see that far ahead. But I'm pretty sure it's somehow connected to all the bad stuff I saw coming before Wolfram & Hart drilled my head open, and took what I learned after Cordy-kins sang for me back then."

This rather alarming news quickly decided it for Angel. Taking a deep (unneeded) breath, he turned to Connor and said, "All right. I promise you that whatever I learn, no matter what it is, I'll come back here and tell everyone before I do anything else. Will that do?"

"I suppose," Connor nodded, reluctantly. Then his expression hardened. "And if you just lied to me? Our little truce is officially over. And make of that what you will, _**Dad**_."

Angel winced, mentally cursing Holtz yet again, before hurrying out the front doors. He paid no attention to Fred loudly berating his son for his behavior; he was already focused on finding the two cops in question.

He walked quickly, looking around here and there, following Cordelia's route away from the hotel that night. He eventually arrived where he'd heard that she'd encountered that gang of street punks, and slowed down. Something... something close by...

Then he saw it. The LAPD cruiser, roughly three quarters of a block away. Angel wasn't sure how he knew it, but he was nonetheless _**certain**_ that the vehicle contained exactly who he was looking for. So he put on a burst of speed, and chased after the squad car.

A few seconds later, he was running at human speeds again, shouting and waving frantically. "Hey! STOP! I need to talk to you! Please, pull over!"

Immediately, the cruiser did exactly that, quickly finding a convenient parking spot. The two police officers then exited the vehicle, staring at him. Angel felt exuberant; both cops matched the description Connor had given him, namely a slightly overweight Hispanic and a sandy-haired white guy. "Uh, could I please have a few moments of your time?"

"Is this some sort of emergency, sir?" the Hispanic – Angel could see the nameplate read 'Castillo' – asked politely.

"Uh, no. Well, sort of. I mean, yeah, it _**is**_ an emergency as far as I'm concerned," Angel babbled for a moment, before cursing himself for his loss of emotional control.

"What seems to be the problem, sir?" the other police officer – this one was named 'Hodges' – asked, in that same polite cop tone of voice.

"Um, my name is Angel. I'm looking for Cordelia Chase – she works for me at my detective agency, Angel Investigations. According to my information, you two might have seen her on Sunday night?"

The two cops exchanged a look, before moving away from the vehicle and a lot closer to Angel. "Let's see some I.D., pal," Officer Hodges said in a no-nonsense tone.

Dutifully, Angel got out his wallet and showed them both his driver's license and his business card with the emblem of his detective agency on it. "Will this do?"

Both cops examined the license, and then the professional advertising card, before giving them back to him. "OK, I have a question. Where have you been since Sunday night?" Officer Castillo asked suspiciously. "I mean, you'd think if you employed the woman, you woulda tracked us down before now?"

"Uh, well, I've been working on a case. That is, out of town," Angel lied as best he could. "Look, I just wanna know – did you two see her that night? And if you did, do you know where she went?"

"Yeah, we saw her. Woman said she wanted to go home," the sandy-haired cop replied.

"But – Cordy's not there. I mean, my people have been to her Silverlake apartment, there's been no sign of her," Angel said, the burst of hope at the policeman's words quickly fading. "And I don't know where else – "

"What do you know about someone named 'Connor'?" Officer Castillo asked suspiciously, interrupting him unexpectedly.

"Uh, who?" Angel immediately tried to play dumb.

"Punk kid who tried to kidnap Miss Chase that night, and ran away after resisting arrest," Officer Hodges said with a grimace. "Not to mention a thief who stole a lot of stuff from the woman's apartment. What do you know about him?"

Angel tried to maintain a poker face after hearing the slurs against his son, but something must have given him away, as both cops slowly started to reach for their pistols. "Sir, please answer the question," Castillo said, his tone of voice making it sound more like an order than a request.

"I don't know anything," Angel lied yet again. "The only person I care about is Cordelia, now please – what else can you tell me?"

"You know what? I think we ought to continue the rest of this conversation over at the station. Pretty sure Detective Baker will have some questions for you about that no-good little asshole – who ran away like a cowardly rat that night," Castillo's partner said, deliberately goading him.

Angel growled deep in his throat, his vampiric nature such that he was simply unable to help himself. And that was enough for both cops to yank out their pistols – but the next moment, there was no one there for them to aim at. Using undead super-speed, Angel had already vanished.

"What did I tell you? All kinds of weird freakiness in this city," Angel overheard Castillo say from not too far away, the cop shaking his head and holstering his department-issue SIG.

"So, we gonna call it in?" Hodges asked, cocking his head slightly.

"Yeah. Well, not all of it, not what happened just now – just that the guy flagged us down, asked us a few questions and then left," Castillo told his partner, as they both climbed back into the cruiser. "Trust me: you definitely want to avoid mentioning stuff in the official reports that'll eventually have someone in Internal Affairs stamping 'pure crazy' all over your record!"

* * *

 _A few hours earlier – side street near the Sunnydale Promenade, Sunnydale: evening:_

{ _Spike's dead,_ } Xander thought vaguely to himself, as he carried the unconscious Cordelia to his car. { _Cordy actually – she_ _basically_ ** _vaporized_** _him just now. I – wow. That's gotta be major demon stuff! Seriously scary shit..._ }

Such thoughts quickly flew out of his brain, however, as he lay the brunette down on the back seat of the car – good thing he hadn't used his truck tonight, despite how the Taurus still had a cracked front grille and a broken windshield thanks to Vamp Devon – secured her with the seat belts, and quickly headed for the driver's seat. Xander figured that as the crow flies, Sunnydale General was the closest hospital –

"Ohhh, my head," Cordelia's voice groaned from the back seat, and instantly, it felt like the weight of the world had dropped off of his shoulders. Xander's spirit soared as he then heard her say, "Did anyone get the license plate of the truck that hit me?"

"CORDY! Are you OK?" he yelled, rushing back to the rear of the car. He jumped in, released her and helped her sit up, looking worried. "Honey, you scared the _**crap**_ out of me!"

"What?" the Seer asked blearily, looking around. "Xander – what are we doing here? Weren't we in the alley with Spike and that woman, just now?"

"You don't remember what just happened?" Xander demanded, trying to calm down. "No, wait, never mind. Are you hurt? Do I need to take you to the hospital?"

"Uh... I don't think so. I mean, headache, sure; but I've had worse after a long day at cheerleader training camp, not to mention studying for finals," Cordelia replied, pushing herself further upright. "Now answer my question. What happened?"

"Uh, well, to be honest with ya – I'm not really sure what went down in that alley just now. It was – seriously freaky," Xander gulped, still trying to calm himself.

"Wait, wait – I remember now," Cordy said, a frown appearing on her face. "Spike was attempting to play innocent, then he started humming something, and then he finally dropped the act – he vamped out, and started to attack – "

"And then you did _**something**_ , I'm not sure what," Xander interrupted her. "But whatever it was, I think you saved both our lives. And that co-ed's life, too."

"Xander – what the hell just happened?" Cordy asked, now starting to look freaked. "What did I do?"

"Um, I think you blasted Spike into kingdom come using your, uh, mystical demon powers?" he shrugged, helplessly.

"I... what?"

"Well, it's the only explanation I can think of, at least right now," Xander told her, trying to be comforting. "Of course, I could be wrong. And knowing me? I almost certainly am!"

"No... I don't think you are," Cordelia replied, refusing to indulge in any sort of denial. "Willow and Jonathan already told me I wasn't completely human anymore, remember? This – is just proof of it. What they said about that, that demonic essence... "

"OK, but, uh, the important thing to remember is that you used your powers for good, instead of evil," Xander said reassuringly.

Cordelia shook her head. "But how can you be sure that I'm not evil now? Don't forget, I'm also infected with – something! What if that infection isn't inactive anymore? What if – "

Instinctively, Xander shut her up by pressing his lips onto hers. They kissed feverishly, passionately and wantonly before she eventually shoved him back a little. "Wait, what was I saying?"

"I don't remember. Were we talking?"

Smiling, she immediately yanked him closer and plastered herself against him, her tongue working frantically against his. Xander picked her up with his hands cupped around her ass, and Cordelia's legs straddled him on either side as she eagerly climbed into his lap. They made out for many minutes in the back seat of the Taurus before she said dreamily, "Oh, jeez, it's about freaking time... "

"Seriously? Isn't that supposed to be the guy's line?"

 _ **Smack!**_ Her free hand hit his chest, hard.

"Ow!" he complained, looking up at her with the hurt brown puppy eyes act.

"Well, you deserved it! Dickhead."

"That's a bit further down south, sweetheart."

Cordelia snickered. "I'm well aware, Doofus." She ground against his groin suggestively. "So now what?"

"Well, as tempting as it is to relive our glory days a little? Cordelia, we're not gonna have sex in the back seat of my car. 'Cause this isn't high school anymore, those days are gone; and the next time we make love, it's gonna be in my bed. In _**our**_ bed," Xander told her earnestly. "Because seriously, I want it to be as romantic as possible for you. After everything you've been through lately, it's the very least you deserve!"

Cordelia's blinding smile had to be at least megawatt intensity, this time. "So, you're finally done being an ass about 'us', and we're officially back together again?"

"Yeah, I guess – but there's one thing I have to do before we make it official. OK, two things," Xander shrugged, quickly amending himself.

"Which are?"

"I wanna talk to Willow; make sure there's no chance of you getting your memories back anytime soon." He sighed after seeing her expression and added, "I know, I know, it shouldn't make any difference; but I can't help it, Cor. Just feels like something I gotta do, y'know what I mean?"

"Not really, but never mind. And the second thing?" Cordelia asked, eyes narrowing.

He sighed. "I've got to tell Anya about this. I sorta owe it to her, after the way I walked out on our wedding last year."

Cordelia immediately climbed off his lap, and glared at him. "And if she's not OK with it? What are you gonna do, dump me straightaway and beg her to take you back?"

{ _She's frightened of losing me to the competition. You gotta keep that in mind,_ } Xander told himself patiently. He couldn't help marveling at the concept of Cordelia ever being insecure over anything, least of all him, before quickly rejecting the very idea. Then he said, "No, Cor. Like I told you the other night, I'm as sure as I can be that Anya and me, we're done. Finished. Kaput – "

"With no hope of ever getting back together. Yeah, I remember," Cordelia cut him off. She thought about it for a few seconds, and then abruptly nodded. "All right, fine. Go ahead and tell her that you're mine again. But after that, that's it – understood? No more excuses. Especially not if Buffy and Willow hit the roof about it!"

"Damn, you just reminded me – we're gonna have to tell Buffy about what just happened to Spike. And boy, is she _**not**_ gonna be happy with you," Xander exhaled loudly, mentally anticipating what the Slayer's reaction would be once she heard the bad news – and almost cringing at that visual.

"So? Since when have I ever cared about what Buffy Summers thinks of _**me?**_ Besides, I can always use you as a human shield if she gets into the same sort of hysterical rage she did the other night," Cordelia said flippantly, blowing some stray hairs out of her face. "You remember, when she started banging on the front door after learning that Spike had been officially evicted from your apartment?"

"How could I possibly forget?" Xander shrugged, as they both got out of the back seat and moved into the front of the car. "I mean, that night was pretty memorable, for lots of reasons."

* * *

 _A while later – outside 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale; evening:_

"Well, here we are," Xander said, pulling over close to Buffy's house and looking at the woman sitting next to him. "You ready?"

Cordelia let out a big breath. "Ready as I'll ever be," she replied.

They got out of the car and walked hand in hand to the front door of the house. Xander knocked on the door, and to his surprise, Anya answered the summons. "Ahn? What are you doing here?"

"If you must know, I'm here dropping off some books about the First which Giles sent over from England, on my way home from work." She looked down at their joined hands, and scowled. "And I suppose I don't need to ask what _**you've**_ been up to, do I? I mean, it's pretty obvious this woman has managed to sink her claws into you again, right?"

Cordelia growled at her, a deep, animalistic sound; but Xander squeezed her hand, and she subsided almost immediately. "I'll be waiting inside. Just don't take too long about this, Dummy." His girlfriend subsequently let go of his hand and walked into the house, shutting the door behind her.

"Well?" Anya demanded, scowling at him.

"Well, what? What do you want me to say, Ahn? I mean, you've already guessed what's happened between Cordy and me. And I just wanted to tell you in person, rather than you hearing it as gossip from the rest of the gang – "

"Oh, sure, _**now**_ you're concerned about my feelings. So where was this concern on our wedding day, you douche bag?" she snapped at him.

{ _Great, we're back to that again._ } Xander told her, "Anya... how many times do you want me to say I'm sorry about that? Great googley-moogley, I told you... I thought I was doing the right thing that day, I didn't want to hurt you – "

"Yeah, well, you did! And – I want to know why. Hey, wait a minute – did you abandon me that day, because I wasn't that Cordelia girl?!" she demanded suspiciously.

"What? NO!" Xander yelped, feeling shocked. "I mean, Cordy totally wasn't part of the picture then!"

"But she is now," Anya growled, staring at him angrily.

"Yeah, guess so. She's not the type who takes 'no' for an answer on anything, and earlier tonight I thought Cordy mighta been hurt or even worse, and all of a sudden it all sorta clicked into place – I mean, I just knew – "

"Stop. I don't need to hear details. All I need to know is that you've moved on," Anya cut him off roughly, trying to hide her pain but not succeeding very well. The next moment she blanked her expression, though – straightening up, she told him emotionlessly, "Fine. So be it. I know that eventually, I'll find someone else. So, we can officially consider the subject of 'us' closed, like forever."

"Ahn... "

But she had already turned away and opened the front door to the Summers residence, heading back inside. With another heartfelt sigh, Xander followed her into the house; only for Anya to collect her coat and handbag from the stand, and say a brief farewell to everyone before walking out the front door.

"What's gotten her so upset?" Dawn asked curiously.

"I – think I can guess," Willow said hesitantly, seeing Cordelia and Xander holding hands again.

Buffy noticed it too. "What the hell-? Xander! What's _**wrong**_ with you? I mean, despite appearances, Cordelia's only seventeen right now! Of all the boneheaded – "

"Gee, Buffy. That's kinda hypocritical, coming from _**you!**_ I mean, the way I remember it? It was just a few months ago that you were seventeen, and you gave it up to a vampire!" Cordelia interrupted, a vicious look appearing in her eyes. "At least _**my**_ man isn't centuries older than I am, and a psycho serial killer just waiting to be unleashed!"

"Uh-oh," Jonathan muttered, retreating to minimum safe distance besides Andrew, who was once again tied up in his chair.

"What's going on?" Wells asked, seeing the Slayer starting to glare at Cordelia.

"I dunno for sure, but I'm pretty sure Mount Saint Buffy is about to explode," Levinson muttered, before scowling at the prisoner.

"How _**dare**_ you say that to me?!" Buffy screamed at Cordelia, right on cue. "You have _**no idea**_ what I've been through over the years, you, you vapid whore-!"

"Don't call her that. Never again. Or our friendship is officially over, Buffy," Xander cut in warningly. "And trust me; you won't like the consequences if that happens."

"What are you talking about?!" Buffy exploded angrily, glaring at him.

"I'll explain later, Buff," Willow told her, before sending an unfriendly look in Xander's direction. He could tell she was still upset about the whole 'sugar daddy' thing from earlier tonight, and simply shrugged. The redhead ignored that and added, "Besides, we've got other things to worry about right now. Like Spike?"

Buffy visibly calmed down, exhaling a long, deep breath of pain. "All right. Where are we on that?"

"I had a vision about him murdering some woman in an alley, earlier tonight," Cordelia said, as everyone turned to stare at her. "So, any doubts you had about Spike killing people again? Forget 'em!"

"She's right, I mean – I was there. I saw Cordelia glow with this weird kind of white light, and her eyes turned totally white while she was tuned in to the Psychic News Network," Xander explained.

"Oh, jeez. Well, we gotta stop him," Buffy said quickly, and Xander could tell that Slay-gal was willing to accept the truth of Cordy's assertion despite still being pissed at her. He doubted the blond had forgotten how Cordelia prided herself on being painfully honest at all times, after all.

"So which alley was it, exactly?" Buffy then asked.

"It, um, doesn't really matter, not anymore. Cordy and I already, ah, dealt with the situation," Xander said uncomfortably.

"What do you mean?" Dawn asked at once.

"What are you talking about?" Buffy demanded at the same time. She glanced at her little sister before adding, "Damn it, Xander, why didn't you call and let me handle it? I'm the Slayer around here!"

"How about the fact that by the time you'd have gotten there, Spike's intended victim would have been _**dead?**_ " Cordelia said scornfully. "The Doofus and I got there only just in time, as it is – and our apartment is a lot closer to the damn Promenade than this place!"

"I was actually at the high school, with Jonathan... " Buffy trailed off, before shaking her head. "All right, fine. My mistake. So – did you see which direction Spike ran off in, after you two stopped him from killing that woman?"

Xander and Cordelia exchanged a glance, and he said in a very soft voice, "Ah, about that, Buff... "

"What?" the Chosen One asked in confusion.

"Oh, Goddess, you didn't," Willow breathed out in horror, and Xander could tell how his red-haired best friend was quicker on the uptake than anyone else in the room. "Xander? You wouldn't have. You _**couldn't**_ have!"

"He didn't. I did," Cordelia said, in that same scornful voice as before. "I mean, after Spike went into his 'grr' face and started to attack us? Not sure how I did it, but I killed him before he could hurt me and my boyfriend. What? Willow, were we supposed to just stand there and _**let**_ him kill us?"

Buffy's eyes went wide, and Xander could almost literally see the red veil of murderous rage clouding her vision. She then rushed over towards his girlfriend; and he could tell Buffy was fully intending to make Cordy's teeth go flying out the back of her neck –

But anticipating her actions, Xander stepped in front of the Seer, and so the Slayer's blow sent _**him**_ soaring through the air into the wall instead.

"XANDER!" Willow and Dawn screamed, as Cordelia blinked – and then, with a primal howl of pain, she rushed over to him.

"I'll, I'll call an ambulance," Xander vaguely heard Jonathan announce, before the nerd rushed towards the telephone.

No one paid any attention to Levinson as he dialed 911, and after he hung up, Jonathan grabbed a knife – the same one Andrew would have stabbed him with – before the guy ordered his ex-partner to proceed upstairs, after cutting him loose.

Still dazed and in pain, Xander could only see Buffy looking shocked by the sight of his head bleeding all over the living room carpet...

TBC…

* * *

A/N: First off, we must reiterate our position that we are _not_ bashing any of the characters in this story! Or trying to bash anyone, whatever. See, it was pointed out to us that Angel was acting more than a little dumb by not immediately figuring out Cordelia had left for Sunnydale; but our position is that not only has the Vision Girl been living in Los Angeles for the past _three and a half years_ , thus automatically making that city 'home' for her in Angel's mind, but he wasn't thinking all that clearly at that point anyway - not after having sex with the Transuding Furies (concurrently or consecutively, that was never made clear on the show) and those two OCs goading him about his son.

It was also pointed out that Buffy acted a bit OOC at the end, resorting to violence so quickly after hearing that Spike had been terminated with extreme prejudice that way. Again, she wasn't thinking all that clearly - plus, given the situation... well, Spike was someone Buffy definitely had feelings for, however much denial existed at this point during _Sleeper_ , otherwise he'd have been staked as soon as that battle at 634 Hoffman Terrace was over. And hearing someone that you practically hate casually state that your former lover had been dusted that way? Complicated situation. _Very_ complicated.

Anyway, thanks to WesGeorge for the latest review, and we hope you enjoyed the latest chapter (there's not too many of them left to go!) and that you give us your feedback - oh, and we hope you have/had a fabulous Halloween/Samhain/whatever!


	26. Chapter Twenty-five

**Chapter Twenty-five**

 _Thursday, November 14, 2002 – outside 140 East 71st Street, New York City; not long after midnight:_

Wesley finally arrived at Kennedy's home, looking like he'd been in a war.

Well, in effect, he had; earlier tonight, that battle he'd fought against those three Bringers of the First Evil had been one he'd only barely survived. He'd also had to run for it after shooting two of them, thanks to the unwelcome arrival of the NYPD, which had led to quite a detour around Park Avenue and Fifth Avenue, and the zoo near Central Park.

Near, not in.

In fact, it wasn't a zoo at all in the strictest sense. Still, the people who frequented that part of the city were such odd animals (to his eyes, anyway) that Wes had felt perfectly justified in thinking of the area as a 'zoo.' Those runaways and/or addicts, dazed adolescents who seemed either retarded or drugged or both... it was enough to make Wesley long for the familiarity of smog-filled Los Angeles. And the irony of _**that**_ after losing his memory and thinking he was seventeen oh-so-recently, was not lost upon him.

Still, all that was irrelevant right now. Wes took in the tall, narrow structure of brown jagged stone and thick blue glass – good grief, did the Potential Slayer's family possess utterly no taste at all? – near the corner of the tree-lined block, and he quickly marched up the reddish-brown steps to the black front door.

A quick press of the doorbell, and eventually a woman dressed in a maid's uniform opened the door. "Yes?"

"The name's Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, madam. I'm here to see Mr. and Mrs. Greene, and their daughter Kennedy."

The maid looked at him in amazement. "Mister, do you have any idea what time it is? It's nearly half past midnight! Go away, and come back tomorrow. Better yet, don't come back at all!"

"Madam, I _**do**_ realize that given the late hour, you are rightly skeptical concerning the urgency of the situation. However, this truly is a matter of life or death – and since I saved Miss Greene's life earlier tonight from three people out to kill her, it would seem to me that the societal niceties can be ignored, for now," Wesley replied tightly, using old school lessons concerning deportment and intimidation to get his message across. "You need to go wake up the family, immediately. Or else I'll go home to Los Angeles, and _**let**_ those men I just mentioned murder you all at their convenience. You decide. Right now."

The maid studied him carefully. Something about his manner and diction must have made an impact, for she nodded and silently gestured for Wesley to enter the house. After she shut the front door behind him, she said "Wait here," and quickly departed the main foyer of the residence.

Wes looked around, perceiving the house to be rather more to his taste on the inside compared to the outside. Hrmm. There was a winding marble staircase on the right, and a long narrow corridor in front of him that led to another door, about thirty feet away. Portraits lined the walls of the corridor; expensive works of art, too, by the look of them. There was a Titian, a Van Eyck, even a Raphael –

"What's going on here? Who the devil are you?" a gruff male voice said from the top of the stairs, as a middle-aged balding man with a mustache appeared, clad in an expensive-looking robe. "Good God, man, do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Indeed I do, sir," Wesley replied in his thickest Oxford accent, which made the man – Kennedy's father, presumably – pause briefly on his way down the stairs. "And the name is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, actually."

"You're British. Like Kennedy's tutor, that Edna Clayworth woman – God rest her soul," Mr. Greene added parenthetically, as he arrived at the bottom of the stairs. "But you still haven't answered my other question. What are you doing here? And at this time of night?"

"Oh my God, what happened to you?!" Kennedy's voice intruded into the conversation, as Wes looked up to see the female teen hurrying down the stairs. He remained silent until the Potential Slayer arrived on the scene, and then Kennedy added, "I mean, you look like hell. And I, I just ran off and left you – "

"It was the right thing to do. As I told you, you yourself are in deadly danger. I assume your father is not aware of the true gravity of the situation?" Wes sent Mr. Greene a brief look.

"Kennedy, you know this man? No, hang on a moment – what do you mean, my daughter's life is in danger? Damn it all, who in heaven's name _**are**_ you?!" Mr. Greene demanded angrily.

"I'll thank you not to take that tone in my presence, sir," Wes replied bitingly, looking down his nose at the American. "Unlike the late Mrs. Clayworth, I am under no obligation to risk my life for you and your daughter. I am merely here as a favor to some former colleagues – and quite frankly, after everything that's happened since I arrived in this godforsaken city? I'm tempted to depart right now, and let the individuals who attempted to murder your offspring earlier tonight have at it in peace. They probably already know where you live; so it's only a matter of time before they slaughter everyone in this house at their leisure."

Mr. Greene's face turned red with fury at being spoken to that way, but then Kennedy forced him to look at her. "Daddy? I think he's right. Those three men who came after me earlier tonight, they were carrying knives. And, and they were wearing these weird-looking robes and hoods, so that no one on the street could see their faces. I, I think Mr. Pryce might have saved my life, giving me the opportunity to run for it... "

"You're welcome," Wes interjected sardonically, causing Kennedy to blush and mutter a belated 'thank you.'

The husband and father calmed down a little, and stared at Wesley again. "All right. Assuming for the sake of argument that you're not some crackpot who just barged in off the street, what do you want? Ten, fifteen thousand? Twenty?"

Wes sent him a look of complete disgust. "Mr. Greene, I don't want your money. And to be perfectly honest, you insult me more than you realize. Obviously, I was mistaken to assume that you understood I wasn't simply some mercenary for hire. As I said, I should just leave – "

"No, wait! Don't, don't do that," Kennedy said rapidly. "Come with me... " She grabbed him by the wrist and began pulling him down the corridor, towards the door at the other end.

A few moments later, she opened the door with her free hand and dragged him into the library. Wesley was somewhat captivated by what he saw; such as the long drinks table, genuine leather armchairs, rows of bookshelves that reach almost as high as the ceiling – plus a pair of French doors at the far end of the room. It reminded him very much of the family home in England. { _Impressive, I must say._ }

"Daddy, please, fetch our guest a drink," the Potential Slayer firmly ordered her father. The man grumbled under his breath, but reluctantly obeyed Kennedy anyway. Mr. Greene poured himself a Scotch as well, and then came closer to hand over the glass of Scottish pride to him.

"Here's to your daughter's health," Wes smirked and raised his glass, enjoying the older man's visible annoyance a bit too much.

"I'll drink to that," Mr. Greene nodded sourly, and swallowed all the alcohol in one gulp. Then he said, "All right, now let's take it from the top. Who exactly are these people who want my little girl dead? And _**why**_ do they want to kill her?"

"How much do you know?" Wes asked Kennedy, not answering the question. "How much did your Watcher tell you?"

"Not all that much," the dark-haired girl shrugged. "I mean, Mrs. Clayworth told me the basics, but I've never even seen a – " She paused, glancing at her father, but then decided to finish the sentence anyway. "A vampire."

"A WHAT?!" Mr. Greene roared, not unexpectedly.

"Your daughter is neither lying nor mistaken, sir. Such things truly exist; I myself have seen and battled against such loathsome creatures. But that is neither here nor there at the moment. Because even though your daughter is a potential Vampire Slayer, it is the forces of the First Evil – its Bringers – who are out to kill her. Just as they've killed dozens of other Potential Slayers throughout the world, by this point in time."

"That's it. I've heard _**enough**_ of this nonsense!" Mr. Greene roared –

– just as a Bringer crashed through the glass pane of the window overlooking the garden, its hood up and its red, mutilated eyes immediately homing in on its target. Kennedy.

"What the-?" Mr. Greene muttered in pure disbelief, frozen to the spot as the Scotch whiskey glass fell from his hand and shattered on the floor.

Not that Wes was in any position to notice; he had already engaged the Bringer in combat. The harbinger of the First Evil quickly decided to eliminate the more immediate threat, as Wesley leapt upon him and they rolled around on the carpet for a few moments, the First Evil's minion trying to stab him with that silver dagger –

 _ **SNIKT!**_

The collapsible sword extended out and _**through**_ the Bringer's neck, splattering Wesley's face and shirt with red, lukewarm arterial blood. Grunting, he tried to pull it out of the dead man's neck; only for the weapon to shatter into little pieces.

Feeling annoyed, Wesley quickly pushed the corpse off of him, took the gauntlet off his wrist and then let it drop to the floor. He subsequently picked his whiskey glass up off the carpet, inspecting it carefully. Getting up, he casually said to Mr. Greene, "I think I'd like a refill, please. Would you care for one?"

"Uh, yeah... " the balding man nodded slowly, looking freaked. "Better make it a double."

"As you wish." Wesley figured that his blood-splattered appearance must be a trifle upsetting to the millionaire, because Kennedy's father immediately backed away from him after accepting the Scotch.

"Could I have one as well?" Kennedy asked, eying the corpse on the floor.

"No," both Wesley and Mr. Greene said in unison. Upon receiving the older man's questioning look, he added, "Not only is the girl underage, I disapprove of Potentials imbibing alcohol. It slows their reaction time significantly during their training."

"Right... " Mr. Greene trailed off, now refusing to look at the robed body on the floor. "So, uh, what do we do about him?"

"I'd suggest calling pest control tomorrow morning, and have them clean up the mess. After all, it's hardly a fitting job for the maid," Wes replied cuttingly, causing Mr. Greene to stare at him like he was completely mad.

"Holy... this is for real, isn't it?" the millionaire said abruptly, now looking completely shell-shocked. "What you said before, that stuff about vampires and, and evil, and... you really weren't kidding, were you?"

"No, I wasn't. Welcome to the real world," Wes said sardonically, before gulping down the Scotch.

"Daddy, are you all right?" Kennedy asked, looking concerned after seeing her father's facial expression. "I mean, are, are you OK about all this?"

"Huh? Oh, hell no, sweetheart. No one in their right mind could _**possibly**_ be OK with all this," Mr. Greene replied forcefully, before focusing back on Wesley. "But never mind that for now. All right, let's start again. Mister, you mentioned something before about my daughter being a potential, uh, what did you call it – vampire killer?"

"Vampire Slayer," Wesley nodded, and got right down to the standard speech. "You see, contrary to popular mythology, this world did not begin as a Paradise – "

* * *

 _Wednesday, November 13, 2002 –1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale; late evening:_

"Ow," Xander said, as the pert blond paramedic – her nameplate read 'Hawthorne' – applied a bandage to his head.

"Are you feeling dizzy? Nauseous? Pretty sure the headache part is a given," Ms. Hawthorne said, as she finished up the job.

"No, no, and yeah," Xander replied, before glancing around at the group of concerned women surrounding them. "Guys, relax! I'm fine, pretty much."

"Well, you sure didn't _**look**_ fine when Buffy – " Cordelia started to say, before Willow slapped a hand over her mouth.

"She's just upset about an argument from earlier on. Please, pay no attention," the redhead said to the paramedic quickly, before giving his girlfriend a warning look.

Ms. Hawthorne looked at him and then at the Buffinator, before shaking her head and visibly dismissing the seemingly-absurd notion that his blond friend could have caused him an injury like this. Xander knew he had to weigh almost twice as much as Buffy did, and the paramedic would have no idea about the whole Slayer thing. { _Kinda lucky there, I hafta admit. 'Cause last thing we need is the Sunnydale cops to get involved in this!_ }

"All right, well, you're more or less OK," Ms. Hawthorne said to him, "though I'd advise you to go see your health care professional, if the headaches are still there in forty-eight hours. Now, sit still for a few minutes and give the Elmer's glue a chance to set, understood?"

"Fine," Xander grimaced a little, leaning back on the couch.

"Thank you for everything," Dawn said gratefully to the paramedic, who just nodded and started packing up her stuff. A few moments later, she walked out the front door to the ambulance waiting outside, and then she and her partner drove off into the night.

Back inside the house, an uncomfortable silence fell. Xander could see how Willow and Dawn were deliberately avoiding gazing in Buffy's direction, while Cordelia was staring at the Chosen One with a look of pure, venomous hatred. So he said, "Uh, listen, before anyone says anything – "

"I say we call the police, and tell them what this _**bitch**_ did!" Cordy shouted, glaring at the Slayer.

"Like that," Xander continued, with a hopeless look on his face. "Um – "

"You want a piece of me, Cordelia? All right, fine – I'll even let you throw the first punch. But after that, the kiddie gloves come off," Buffy growled back at her, obviously very upset over the events of the evening so far.

"OK, OK, before this whole thing becomes worthy of pay-per-view or whatever, I have something I'd like to say," Xander interjected.

"What is it?" Willow asked nervously, staring back and forth between the Slayer and the Seer.

"Will, I'd like you, Dawn and Cordy to go upstairs and check on Jonathan and Andrew. Tell them it's safe to come downstairs again," he said, looking around at all three of his girls.

"What? Oh, hell, no! Xander, you think I'm leaving you alone for Little Miss Psycho Menace to hit you again, you're even more brain-damaged than I thought!" Cordelia replied vehemently. "I swear – the way your head hit that wall, at the very least you should have had a concussion!"

"Yeah, well, I'm thinking the legacy of almost becoming Fish Guy includes a harder head than your average Sunnydale construction worker; and guessing the black eye will have to do," Xander gestured to the left side of his face, which was already starting to swell up. "And seriously, I'm totally not looking forward to explaining all this to the guys at work tomorrow. Thinkin' my man cred is gonna take a serious hit, even leaving out the whole 'you got beaten up by a girl' angle."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "OK, guess the lame jokes mean that you're not hurt all that bad. Fine, we're upstairs bound." She grabbed Willow and Cordelia by the wrist and started dragging them off. "C'mon, we need to give them some privacy. And don't argue with me, damn it!"

"All right, fine. Hey, let go of me!" Cordy said crossly, yanking her arm loose. She then looked over her shoulder and said, "We'll be back soon, Dweeb. I promise."

"Looking forward to it, sweetheart," Xander smiled at her. "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere."

"You better not!" And without another word, the Vision Girl followed the witch and the Key up the stairs.

"Xander, I'm sorry I – " Buffy began to apologize at once.

"Hit me? Yeah, I know. But hey, no big deal as far as I'm concerned; it wasn't the first time, and I'm pretty sure it won't be the last, either," Xander shrugged from his spot on the couch, causing Buffy to stare at him in astonishment. He explained, "Occupational hazard of hanging with a Slayer, way I see it. I mean, Faith tried to strangle me way back when, and you punched my lights out just now. Who knows; maybe the next Chosen One will be more into spanking... "

"Will you cut it out with the stupid jokes?!" Buffy snapped at him, looking very upset. "My God, you – what the hell were you thinking, getting in my way like that? I could have _**seriously**_ hurt you just now!"

"You mean, as opposed to seriously hurting my girlfriend? Thinkin' we both know you wouldn't have pulled your punch for Cordy the way you did with me, Buff," Xander shook his head slowly and painfully, as the Slayer winced and looked away. It almost felt like someone had driven a nail into his skull, just above the left eye. "Fact is, you mighta killed her. And I couldn't risk that – no way, no how."

"I, I couldn't have... I mean, I wouldn't have gone that far. Killing a human being, even Cordelia – that's a line I don't ever want to cross," Buffy said fervently, shaking her head. "Totally not wanting to follow in Faith's footsteps, and trust me; I learned my lesson with that Robo-Ted guy, way back when."

"Yeah, well, like I said; didn't wanna risk it. This sort of thing is starting to become a habit with you, ya know."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Buffy demanded.

"Well, you stabbed Faith over Angel. You tried to kill Anya over those frat boys. You wanted to plunge your fist through Cordy's head over Spike," Xander shrugged again, very slightly and painfully. "I mean, is it just me – or is there a pattern emerging here, with regard to the women I've been intimate with?"

"You've had sex with Cordelia _**already?!**_ " Buffy said loudly, staring at him in sudden disgust.

"No – I meant, back in high school. We, uh, it was around the time of Graduation – and all three times were absolutely incredible," Xander smirked at her for a moment, before becoming serious again. "Look, Buffy. Cordy and I are back together now. And I need you to deal, OK? I'm not asking you to be happy for us, because you never asked me to be happy about you and Spike – and even before then, you and Angel – and there's no point trying to accomplish the impossible, with regard to that sort of thing. I'm just asking you to be civil to my girlfriend, that's all."

"Civil? You want me to be _**civil**_ to her? After that woman murdered Spike?" Buffy growled at him. "Wait up – what happened there, exactly? She just came right up to him and plunged the stake in?"

"Actually, she never even went near the guy."

"WHAT?"

"Yeah, what happened earlier tonight? See, Spike went into his vamp face and was about to pounce on us – when Cordy killed him with that Force bolt, or whatever the hell it was."

"WHAT?" Buffy demanded again. He explained, briefly; thus the Slayer looked amazed as she said, "Cordelia has – superpowers now?"

"Yeah. That's the other reason why you don't wanna throw down with her. Don't wanna risk her vaporizing you, like she did your undead honey."

Buffy immediately shook her head in denial, refusing to believe that was even possible. "No. No way! And what you said before, Spike making out with another woman? He wouldn't do that! Not with his feelings for me!"

"Well, hey, we never actually saw him kiss her; Spike just had his face pressed against his neck, like he was about to nibble affectionately or something. And I'll admit that for a moment there, it was kinda weird – like he was talking to someone we couldn't see or hear – just before he went from normal, pain in the ass Spike to bloodthirsty-looking lethal killer Spike. Maybe something – "

He paused, looking shocked. "Holy crap. The First? You think it mighta been controlling him, somehow, making him do stuff without his even knowing about it? Yeah, I mean, that would explain why Spike was able to deny everything so convincingly... "

"Oh, God, then that makes it even _**worse!**_ " Buffy started pacing angrily. "I mean, if you're right – then what's happened lately wasn't even Spike's fault! And I, I could have fixed this, somehow, if Cordelia hadn't – "

"Killed him before he could kill us?" Xander interrupted softly. The upset-looking Slayer glared at him as he added, "Hrmm. Interesting to know where my life – and Cordelia's – sits on your list of priorities, Buff."

"Damn it, that's not what I meant – "

"I know. I mean, I get it," Xander interrupted again. "You're just totally focused on the vampire you had hate sex with, for most of last year. It's understandable. He went and got a soul for you, after all. He kept you sane after me and the others ripped your soul out of Heaven. He looked after Dawn for you while you were dead. Odds are Spike was pretty damn good in the sack, too – over a century's worth of experience and all. I mean, what's not to like about the guy?"

From the look on her face, Buffy obviously knew damning praise when she heard it. "And Cordelia is oh-so-completely likeable?"

"I don't think you wanna go there," Xander shook his head again, despite the pain that it caused him.

"Meaning?"

"You called Cordy a 'vapid whore.' That was strike one. You then tried to do her grievous bodily harm. That was strike two. You _**don't**_ want to learn what'll happen after strike three," Xander told her, staring her right in the eye. "Trust me on that, Buff. You. Really. Don't."

"That a threat, Xander?" Buffy asked mildly.

"No. I'm simply saying, you won't like the consequences if you make me choose between you and my girlfriend. Because Cordelia would win. Wouldn't even remotely be a contest, as my black eye will attest." He tried to get up, but was immediately slammed down by the pain.

"Damn it, Xander, are you _**trying**_ to hurt yourself?!" Buffy's concerned voice registered only vaguely in his brain. "Don't move. I think we have some Tylenol and Advil in the kitchen, I'll be right back."

Xander leaned back on the couch with an audible sigh. He honestly hadn't intended for the conversation to go there, but it had happened anyway. Damn. His friendship with the blond Slayer was being tested like never before –

And for the first time in nearly seven years, Xander didn't know if it would survive this time around.

* * *

 _Thursday, November 14, 2002 – police headquarters, Stockton, Northern California; early morning:_

"So is this gonna take much longer?" Faith asked the plain-clothes police detective, as she sat in the 'interview' room. Well, interrogation room, really – but, apparently, you couldn't call it that anymore. Because of political correctness and all that bullshit.

She looked towards the wall on her left side, knowing that Groo was in the room next door. Faith figured his interrogation room would be more or less identical to hers; a rectangular table with the interviewee seated on one side, and chairs for the interviewing officers on the other. She also figured both rooms were wired for sound, not to mention had a one-way mirrored window so that the officers in the interview foyer could watch and listen to the interrogation. { _Typical. They probably watch too many TV cop shows –_ }

"We're still trying to ascertain exactly what happened, Miss Lehane," the Stockton cop told her in a polite monotone.

"No, you're hoping that by asking me the same questions over and over again during this little interrogation session – "

"This isn't an interrogation," the detective interrupted. "You're not under arrest, and you haven't been charged with anything."

"Yet, you mean," Faith openly smirked at him. She couldn't help it; she just couldn't resist pissing off guys like him. Must have been due to spending the last few years behind bars. "But anyway, like I was saying, you're hoping that by asking the same questions again and again and again, I'll slip up and say something that'll allow you to pin the whole thing on me. Rip up that pardon I got, and send me straight back to jail. Too bad for you how that crap won't get you anywhere, 'cause I had nothin' to do with it – and I can sit here all day telling you that. I got no other place in particular I need to be right now, ya know."

The cop almost glared at her; almost. Faith counted that as a victory of sorts. But before she could say anything else, the door opened – and a not-so-welcome blast from the past showed up.

"Detective Abelman. I believe you're violating Miss Lehane's rights by interrogating her without an attorney present," Lilah said in her professional lawyer tone. "The name's Lilah Morgan, I'm with Wolfram & Hart. Los Angeles branch."

"Nice to meet you, counselor. And beg to differ," Abelman replied smoothly, looking unimpressed by the female attorney's words. Faith couldn't tell if it was because he was too dumb or too pro, but either way, he was obviously on Lilah's shit list now. "I'm conducting an investigation into a multiple homicide, in which Miss Lehane here is a vital witness – "

"In an interrogation room? Oh, please. We both know that if you thought she was innocent, right now she'd be sitting on the other side of your desk out in the bullpen, helping a police artist make a sketch of the killers in question," Lilah replied derisively. "Now get out and turn off all the microphones in here, or I'll have your badge and your balls for breakfast tomorrow. And if you think I'm kidding? Go ask your friends looking at us through that mirror right now, what happened to the last cop who pissed off my law firm." Lilah gestured towards the nearby mirror casually. "It'll be quite a story, too."

The detective glared at the evil bitch, but left anyway. Lilah waited a few moments, and immediately after the lights flickered for a second, the attorney smiled at her. "Hello, Faith. Long time no see."

"Two and a half years. You miss me, Lilah?" Faith asked with a straight face. "'Cause I missed you. Can't tell you how many nights I spent visualizing your face inside my cell, along with those other guys – Lindsey and Lee."

"Yes, well, it may interest you to know that Lee's dead now, and Lindsey suffered an unfortunate attack of conscience and left the firm over a year ago. Vanished without a trace," Lilah said with a smile. "So if it's revenge you've got in mind? I'm afraid you'll have to settle for me alone."

"What the hell do you want?" Faith abruptly grew tired of the verbal game. "'Cause I'm not in the mood for this crap, lawyer lady. Bottom line, you may have bought that so-called trial, but you couldn't keep me locked up forever like you planned. So, what? What's your angle here?"

"Getting straight down to business. All right, I can respect that." Lilah abruptly lost the smile. "You signed on with Wolfram & Hart to do a job, Faith. That job remains incomplete to this very day."

"You think I'm gonna kill Angel for you, you're even stupider than I thought," Faith snorted sarcastically.

"Who said anything about killing Angel? But if you want to be free of your obligations to the Senior Partners, you'll deliver on what you signed up for. One way or another."

Faith reached down into her prison issue bag and slapped a piece of paper down on the table. "Presidential pardon for all the evil shit I did. So if I say 'fuck you, bitch', you can't send me back to that prison."

"Can't I?" Lilah asked calmly.

"No, actually, I believe you can't. Hello, Miss Lehane. I'm Howard McKenzie, attorney with Klein & Gabler," an older, distinguished-looking guy said, while standing at the door of the interrogation room. "May I have a word?"

"Have a sentence, even," Faith instinctively smirked after seeing the sour expression on Lilah's face.

"Very well. Ms. Morgan, you need to examine this," the male attorney gave Lilah a sheaf of papers.

The Wolfram & Hart lawyer examined the papers briefly, and after reading the signature at the end, raised her eyebrows. "I refuse to believe that the Chief Justice of the United States actually signed this."

"Believe what you wish, Ms. Morgan. But in my experience? If the Executive Office of the President wants something done, it gets done. Now, I suggest you leave before you give the police officers at this station just cause to arrest you."

Lilah glared at him, and then at her, but quickly departed the room. Faith smirked again and said, "So, what was all that about?"

"Ms. Morgan was just served with a restraining order. It's now a criminal offence for her to have any form of contact with you, whatsoever. And since it cuts out her ability to confer legal interference quite nicely, it should enable a rapid conclusion of this matter for all concerned," McKenzie said crisply.

"Right. So what are you doing here, anyway? Got the feeling you didn't show up just to piss off the evil lawyer," Faith replied.

"Actually, I'm here as a favor to a certain individual in the White House. He asked me to help expedite the removal of police interference in keeping you here as a criminal suspect, due to your jail record. Apparently, you have quite a number of people in high places interested in your situation," McKenzie told her. "I've just come from the hospital, by the way; it looks like that prison guard, Ms. Rhodes, will pull through despite her injuries. She said to say thank you for saving her life."

"No big deal. And besides, I couldn'ta done it without Groo," Faith said uncomfortably.

"Ah, yes. I'm not familiar with your companion, actually, that wasn't part of my briefing," McKenzie nodded. "Still, I've heard that he was on the scene and assisted you during the attack on that bus?"

"Yeah. Saved my life by distracting the bad guys long enough to fight my way outta there."

"I see. Then it shouldn't be a problem resolving any attempts to keep him here, either, assuming he's now part of your... job, or mission, or whatever word suits." McKenzie opened his briefcase, and brought out a piece of paper and a pen. "Please sign this at the bottom, on the dotted line. It's a simple writ authorizing me to act as your attorney; after which, I'll have both you and Mr. Groo out of here in about five minutes."

"Yeah, well, just one thing. Fact is, I don't know you. So how do I know you're not one of the bad guys, and setting me up for something?" Faith asked bluntly.

"I've been a lawyer for nearly fifty years, Miss Lehane. In all that time, I've followed a code of professional conduct which doesn't allow that sort of thing," McKenzie told her sternly. "And as I said, I'm here strictly as a favor to someone who – well, let's just say it's his job to maintain a good working relationship with a certain group of people in England. A group I'm told have a lot of political connections, and who've been around for a very long time."

{ _The Council,_ } Faith thought to herself. { _Well, crap. Was I wrong about them wanting to kill me and not recruit me? This guy might be part of a plan to – no, wait, that doesn't make any sense. Why help me like this, if he's part of the conspiracy to kill me? Odds are he's legit. Well, as far as any lawyer can be!_ }

Going with her instincts, she quickly scrawled her signature on the piece of paper and gave it back to McKenzie. Nodding, the lawyer got up off the chair and gestured for her to follow him out of the interrogation room.

Within fifteen minutes, both Faith and Groo were having breakfast at the local Waterloo diner, after informing the detectives investigating yesterday's murders that they were leaving town for Sunnydale, later today...

TBC…

* * *

A/N: So, what did you all think of the Buffy/Xander conversation? Too much? Not enough? And we're planning for all roads to lead to Sunnydale in the next chapter, all the characters will congregate in the Little Town on The Hellmouth; so please tell us what you think should happen (especially between Connor and Cordelia!). As always, thanks for reading and reviewing, and WesGeorge, thank you for your latest review as well!


	27. Chapter Twenty-six

**Chapter Twenty-six**

 _Thursday, November 14, 2002 – the main lobby of the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; early morning:_

Angel scowled, pacing around helplessly. He could vaguely hear Fred and Gunn arguing in the kitchen, and was somewhat surprised to learn that they were on a 'break' – whatever that really meant – but mostly, his thoughts were focused on Cordelia. His best friend, his Seer, and maybe even the woman he loved –

Frowning, Angel went into his office, got out his sketch pad and started to draw Cordelia's face. He drew her happy, sad, in pain from the visions, frowning, laughing, angry about something or other. He quickly filled up the pad and was about to get another, when the phone rang. So he picked up and said, "Hello?"

«Hello? Angel?» Kate's familiar voice said from the other end of the line.

"Yeah. What's up?" Angel winced at his somewhat curt tone of voice. "Sorry, Kate – I, uh, that came out completely wrong. It's just that I still haven't been able to find any trace of Cordelia, and I guess I'm kinda – "

«No need to explain, I get it.» Kate interrupted. «I'm just calling to give you a heads-up; L.A.'s finest are gonna be paying your hotel a visit soon. I still have one or two friends on the force who tell me what's going on – apparently, your little 'chat' with Officer Castillo and Officer Hodges didn't go so well, huh?»

"No, I guess not," Angel replied, feeling annoyed. Both with those cops and with himself, for letting them rile him up so easily.

«Well, just thought I'd mention that if your son is still there? Might be smart for him to find an elsewhere to be.» Lockley's voice said crisply. «He's a wanted man right now, and I figure you wouldn't want to get arrested for aiding and abetting a fugitive from justice.»

"You're right, I don't. Damn it," Angel cursed. "I've been trying to figure out a way to get Connor off the hook for all that, but I haven't been able to come up with anything so far. I don't suppose you've got any ideas?"

«Sorry, but no.» the ex-cop replied sympathetically. «About the only thing I can suggest is that your kid gets outta town for a while. Like six months or a year, maybe, until the heat's off.»

"I don't think that's an option," Angel said, shaking his head. "Well, thanks anyway; both for the warning and the advice."

«You're welcome. Oh, and by the way? You might wanna look into getting your machine fixed.» Kate's voice now sounded a bit annoyed. «I called a bit earlier, and couldn't even leave a message when no one picked up.»

"What?" Angel said in confusion. "Huh. OK, I'll – have a look at it. Thanks again, Kate."

«You're welcome.» There was a short click! as the woman hung up.

Angel placed the phone back on the receiver, and with a frown, quickly departed his private office. Once in the lobby, he checked out the answering machine; and even though it initially looked fine to him, he soon found the loose wires that prevented the device from working properly.

{ _How did this happen?_ } Angel asked himself suspiciously, as he quickly fixed the machine. { _And of all the times for it to go on the fritz, damn it! Someone might have called with news regarding Cordelia, and we'd never even have known!_ }

Suddenly, a thought began to coalesce inside Angel's mind. Something Kate had said – about how Cordelia was either dead, or out of range of that locator spell – and something that white cop with the mustache had said last night, how Cordy wanted to go home – put them both together, and what did that –

"Hey, Dad?" Connor's voice intruded upon Angel's awareness, shattering his concentration and forcing him to pay attention elsewhere.

"Yeah, son, what is it?" Angel replied, blinking.

"Was that Cordelia on the phone just now?" the boy asked hopefully.

He sighed, shaking his head. "No, sorry. It was Kate; she warned me that the LAPD is going to be coming here soon. And that it would be a good idea if you weren't around when that happened," Angel said somewhat apologetically.

"Right. So, why are the police coming here?" Connor asked suspiciously.

"I'm not sure. I guess that as Cordelia's employer, they want to interview me, find out everything I know about her – and, uh, you. Couldn't have come at a worse possible time, but there's nothing for it but to just humor whoever shows up here, and get rid of them as soon as possible," Angel shrugged.

"There are times this world really annoys me," Connor said disdainfully. "Things were a lot simpler in Quor-toth, you know. If it gets in your way, just kill it and move on."

"Yeah, well. When I was Angelus? That was my philosophy, too. And yet, look what that led to; the curse and all," Angel shook his head. "Son, if there's one piece of advice from me you should always remember, it's this; actions do have consequences. Some you'll see coming, some you won't. I mean, do you remember what happened back when you first arrived in this world? With that girl named Sunny, and that drug dealer named Tyke?"

Connor scowled, obviously recalling the dead female addict in question very well. Not to mention the man whose ear he had cut off as a trophy. "Yeah, I remember. All right, fine, I'm leaving. I'll be back later, maybe around sunset."

"OK." Angel suddenly had an idea, and grabbed his cell phone from the nearby counter. "Here, take this. If there's an emergency, we can contact you – or you can contact us, OK?"

Connor looked at the communication device dubiously. "How do I use this thing? I mean, I've seen the others use them, but I don't... " he trailed off, suddenly looking annoyed over his lack of knowledge.

"Uh – " Angel was ashamed to admit that he wasn't quite certain himself. "To answer an incoming call, I think you press this button. Or is it this one? I, I'm not entirely sure... "

* * *

 _A short while later – Sunnydale High School, Sunnydale; mid-morning:_

"Damn it," Buffy cursed to herself, while washing her hands in the female staff bathroom. "Just – damn it all to hell!"

The Slayer looked at herself in the mirror, before loudly cursing again in frustration. Nothing was right any longer – Willow was tiptoeing around her on egg shells, Dawn couldn't even look at her let alone speak to her, Xander was – no, she didn't want to think about _**him**_ right now – and Spike was dead. Well, he'd always been dead, technically speaking, but –

There was a big difference between being 'vampire' dead, and being 'dust' dead. And it was all Cordelia's fault, damn her!

Buffy couldn't help feeling that somehow, this entire mess was _**entirely**_ due to that bitch showing up in Sunnydale again! Before the brunette had made her unwelcome appearance, everything had been – well, not fine, but at least... manageable. But over the past few days, Cordelia had wrecked just about everything! Like, before she'd shown up again, Xander would never even have dared to –

{ _Oooh, jeez,_ } Buffy thought to herself angrily, albeit mixed with a certain degree of shame over how she had assaulted him last night. { _How_ _ **dare**_ _Xander tell me that I'm on my third strike, or whatever crap that was? Doesn't he care about_ _ **my**_ _pain? How I'm grieving over Spike's death? No, of course he doesn't! Deep down, the guy hasn't changed a bit since the first day we met – as far as Xander's concerned, the only good vampire is a dusted one! Why can't he see, why can't he understand –_ }

"Having a rough day, are we?"

That accented male voice made Buffy whirl around, stammering, "Spike-?" But then she took a good look at the platinum-haired figure, as well as the sunlight coming in through the bathroom window, and she quickly figured out the truth. "So. You're back again. What is it this time, First-y?"

Spike/the First laughed, looking amused. "What makes ya think I don't show up just for the pleasant conversations we have, luv?"

"I'm not your 'luv', damn it – so don't call me that," Buffy replied, annoyed. "And stop looking like him, will you? It's – annoying."

"You mean painful," the eldritch horror corrected her at once, smirking. "Must be hard looking at this face after learning that I'd made good ol' Spike start killing people again, eh? Bloody shame how that didn't work out, I hafta admit. I had major plans there, ya know; went to all that trouble of implanting a trigger in the bloke's head to get him to do my will. Still, reckon you must be glad that my Bringers are gonna be targeting his killer from now on, eh? Good to know we're on the same page where that Cordelia girl is concerned, anyway."

"We're _**not**_ on the same page about anything!" Buffy snarled angrily.

"Now, now," Spike/the First grinned at her. "Your boy Xander – although he's not really yours anymore, is he? – anyway, the glorified bricklayer definitely had a point during that conversation last night. You _**wouldn't**_ have pulled your punch with that bimbo the way you did with him – and we both know it, pet. Right now, you'd be locked up in jail if that thick-headed git hadn't gotten in yer way. And that principal bloke, Wood? School board would've made him kick you out on yer arse; parents wouldn't want some disturbed killer counselling their kids, would they? You'd have lost custody o' Dawn, not ta mention; that woulda been the final straw as far as Child Services was concerned. Remember that Doris woman you messed 'round with last year, back when you were invisible? She'd have done fer you right proper, she would have!"

"Fine. So I owe Xander, big time. The hell is that got to do with you?" Buffy demanded, trying not to let this _**thing**_ rattle her.

'Spike' morphed into the image of Jenny Calendar. Jenny/the First then said, "Have you forgotten? Like I told you way back when, I am _**everywhere**_. Every being, every thought, every drop of hate. Every evil thing you do, it brings you closer to me. And this time, there will be no easy escape into Heaven for you. Seriously, Buffy, you think they'd ever let someone like _**you**_ through the Pearly Gates again? Newsflash, but people who willingly fornicate with a soulless demon, they aren't exactly welcome there. Least of all someone who doesn't actually regret what she did! The rules are such that you will never see your mother again, once I am finally made flesh and kill you and all your friends. Does that answer your question?"

The apparition of Jenny shrank into a ball of light, and was replaced for an instant by an image of a huge, semi-transparent, horned and clawed beast coming at her, roaring and with its eyes glowing red. It faded as quickly as it appeared, though. Buffy stared in shock as the First's voice said mockingly, "TTFN!" before silence engulfed her once more.

* * *

 _A few hours later – Xander's new office, T &P Construction and Contracting, Sunnydale; lunchtime:_

"Crap," Xander cursed to himself, his head starting to ache. There was so damn much to do, today –

Even though the final issues with the high school had at last been settled, the other problems facing this branch of the company hadn't. The Sunnydale sports arena project still wasn't going according to plan; a colleague in Legal had phoned him to say that they would have to set up a client meeting sometime next week, to sort it all out. The Montecito Convention Center job had hit a few snags too, something about noise pollution and damaging the local ecosystem. He'd have to get the new assistant Junior VP to hire an environmental consultant, delegate what he could –

"Hello, Dorkhead!"

Blinking, Xander came out of his mental musings to stare at his girlfriend, who had entered the office without him even realizing it. "Cordy? What are you – uh, is that a picnic basket?"

"Sure is. I figured what with the black eye and all, you'd be so scatterbrained as to forget about having lunch completely; so, I decided to head over here in order to make sure you got something to eat," Cordelia mock-glared at him, even though her eyes told a totally different story.

"Uh, right. Um, how'd you get past my new secretary?"

"Simple. I introduced myself as your girlfriend before I showed her a picture of us together from back in high school, and she told me to go straight in. That was real nice of her," Cordelia nodded. "She also told me to make sure you take some meds if you're in pain, that black eye had her worried. So, how'd you explain that to her?"

"Ah, classic 'two guys get into a fight over a girl' scenario. And I mighta mentioned something about if she thought I looked bad, she oughta see the other guy," Xander replied, shrugging.

"Huh. If only that were true, where Buffy's concerned," Cordy said somewhat cattily, before changing the subject. "So, are you gonna give me any crap about not having time for lunch? Or are you gonna do the sensible thing and just knuckle under, like a good boyfriend?"

"Well, seeing as I know which one'll keep me on your good side, plus the fact that I'm kinda starving? Thinkin' you can guess which, honey," he shrugged, smiling.

"Good." Cordy put the picnic basket on his desk, and as Xander came around from the other side, she grabbed him into a smoking-hot passionate kiss. It was slow, deep and sensual, as well as filled with need and desire...

Eventually, he broke it off before they lost all self-control and had sex right there on his office desk. Xander told himself, { _Not yet, damn it. Maybe later tonight, but not here and not NOW!_ }

"Um, lunch?" Xander said, trying to get himself under control.

"I know what you're hungry for right now – and it isn't food, Captain Obvious," Cordelia snarked back with a smile, as her right hand drifted down to the bulge in his pants. She gave his groin as soft squeeze and said, "Believe me, I feel the same way. But since I don't want to become company gossip, and you only just got your new job, like yesterday – "

"Yeah, you're right. And it's been over three years since we were together that way, so I can wait a few more hours," Xander promised her, before they briefly smooched again. "Still, there's something we need to discuss."

"Which is?"

"Where exactly we go from here." Xander started to take stuff out of the picnic basket as he added, "I mean, even though I'm sure neither of us is exactly keen on the subject, we do need to find Angel and your friends in L.A. and tell 'em that you're OK. I've given up trying to phone them, and so has everyone else by now; so, what do you think? On Saturday, we take a drive south to the big city, and grab all your stuff while we're there? Assuming you decide to stay here in Sunnydale, of course."

"Of course, I'm going to stay here with you!" she snapped at him, almost viciously. "God! Haven't I made that clear enough by this point? As far as I'm concerned, there's nothing there for me in Los Angeles! Everything I want is right here in this office!"

"Yeah, but... "

"But what?"

"You do have a life there, Cor, even if you don't remember it. Maybe never will remember it, if what Willow and Jonathan told us is true," Xander sighed, scratching his chin for a few moments. "I'm just saying, once we find them – your friends might not wanna let you go, at least not just like that. Especially not Dead Boy."

Ooh, there was her patented Death Glare again, right on cue. { _Makes me glad I'm still walking wounded as far as Cordy's concerned, or she might have slapped me upside the head for that one!_ }

"I make my own decisions, nobody _**owns**_ me," Cordelia said slowly, her eyes boring into his like lasers. "And if Angel thinks he's my keeper or whatever? I'll soon set that vampire straight, soul or otherwise. Point a stake at his chest, until he gets the freaking message!"

Xander shrugged and held his hands up in surrender, as Cordelia started spreading the table cloth over his desk for their picnic lunch. He couldn't help feeling, though, that if (or rather, when) that conversation took place? He definitely wanted to be there to witness it...

* * *

 _A few hours later – the main lobby of the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; late afternoon:_

"Damn it," Angel cursed to himself, pacing around the room. The cops had come and gone earlier today, a couple of plain-clothes detectives – he'd actually recognized one of them, a former uniform from the days when Kate was still with the LAPD – and he'd pretended to cooperate as much as possible. But once they'd left, there had been nothing for him to do except wait for sunset, in order to resume the hunt for the missing Cordelia. And pace helplessly around the hotel, of course.

"Hey, Angel," Fred said, coming down the stairs. "What's happening?"

"Not a lot," he shrugged.

Fred shrugged back. "Not surprised. Myself, I've been trying to figure out where Cordelia might be; I even went back to her old apartment earlier today. But there was no one there. Not even Dennis."

"Cordelia's ghost?" Angel frowned. "He's not there anymore? Huh. That's weird."

"You're telling me. It's strange how you can take someone for granted, until they're simply not there any longer. Weird, definitely," Fred said, not looking at him.

Worried about his missing Seer or not, Angel knew that the petite brunette wasn't talking about Cordelia anymore. Plus, he'd seen for himself how Fred and Gunn had been acting around one another since yesterday. "Look, Fred, this is probably none of my business; but about you and Gunn – "

"You're right, Angel, it's not your business. And I don't want to discuss it," Fred interrupted him.

"Fine. But if you need someone to talk to – I'm here for you," Angel promised her.

"Thanks, but it's – complicated. Charles and me," Fred said slowly, after sighing deeply. "We're sort of on a break right now."

"Yeah, I kinda heard – but, um, why?"

Fred quickly told him everything. How Gunn had killed Oliver Seidel instead of letting her do it, how they'd had a discussion -slash- fight over that the other night, and how she had asked him to move out until further notice. Angel didn't know what to say, and so he just let the woman ramble on about the subject. And then, later, about whatever crossed her mind.

"I mean, I almost wish I hadn't come out of the amnesia, you know? Being seventeen again seems kinda like the comfy alternative, compared to dealing with all the problems Charles and I have right now. Back when I was attending high school in San Antonio, I didn't have to deal with this kind of thing! I'm pretty sure Cordelia didn't, either, when she was living in that place she mentioned on Sunday night – what was it called, Sunny-something –"

"Sunnydale," Angel said automatically, before something went _**click!**_ inside his brain.

"OF COURSE! What's the matter with me?!" he yelled, slamming his right palm against his forehead in frustration. "No wonder that locator spell couldn't find her! And Cordelia thinks she's seventeen... where _**else**_ would she have gone that night, except back to the Hellmouth! And, damn it – Buffy and the others must have called here to tell us that once she showed up in Sunnydale, but no one would have been present when the phone rang, and the damn answering machine wasn't working! Uggghhh... "

Cursing under his breath and ignoring Fred's wide-eyed look of shock, Angel quickly grabbed the phone and punched in the number for Buffy's house. "Come on, come on... "

«Hello?» Dawn's voice said from the other end of the line, sounding kinda breathless.

"Dawn? It's me, Angel. Is your sister there?" he said in a big rush. "No, wait, is Cordelia there?"

«Angel?» Dawn sounded very surprised. «Where the heck have you been? We've been trying to get hold of you and your people for _days!_ »

"I know, I know. Magic spell, we all thought we were seventeen again, yadda yadda yadda," Angel said hurriedly. "Please, Dawn, have you seen Cordelia or not?"

«Sure. She's fine – well, y'know, apart from the amnesia thing.» Dawn's voice suddenly had a slight hitch to it. «I think she's with Xander right now – »

"Oh, thank God," Angel cut her off. He was so happy Cordelia was safe that he barely even registered how his Seer was with that annoying Harris kid. "Can you contact her, tell Cordy that we're coming to Sunnydale for her as soon as I hang up?"

«Yeah, but Angel – »

"That's great! Thank you, Dawn," Angel said hurriedly, cutting her off again and not giving the female teen a chance to complete her sentence. "It'll take us a couple of hours, what with traffic at this time of day – but we'll be there by sunset, if not before. Just don't let Cordelia go anywhere – I'm on my way!" He slammed down the phone and nearly shattered it, almost losing control of his superhuman strength in the excitement of the moment.

"Cordelia? You've found her?" Connor's voice said from the front doors of the hotel. He looked excited and pleased, before his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Were you even going to tell me that you'd located her? Or would you have just rushed off all by yourself, and kept me out of it?"

"Connor, please. It's not like that! Look, son, this has got to stop – I mean, this isn't a competition, and Cordy isn't a prize for us to fight over!" Angel groaned desperately.

"Isn't it? And isn't she?" Connor shot back, coming forward. "Don't think I don't know how you feel about her. Even if it's madness to think she'd choose you over me."

"Guys, please, stop it!" Fred pleaded desperately.

"What's going on down here?" Lorne asked, as he and Gunn came down the stairs.

"We've found Cordelia!" Connor told him excitedly, before calming down and staring at him. "Where is she, anyway?"

"Sunnydale," Angel said immediately.

"The Hellmouth?" Gunn looked disgusted. "Man, I heard about that place!"

"So have I," Lorne frowned. "So have I... "

* * *

 _Two hours later – outside 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale; just after sunset:_

Angel's convertible came to a halt outside the Summers residence, and right behind it, Gunn's truck did the same. Everyone scrambled out of the vehicles, looking at the two-storey house as Angel lifted the trunk of the car, and climbed out from inside the vehicle's storage compartment.

"So this is Sunnydale, huh?" Gunn looked around in distaste.

"Yeppers. For some reason, it reminds me of a cross between _Pleasantville_ and _Nightmare on Elm Street_ ," Fred said grumpily. It had been a long drive here from L.A., especially with Angel and Connor constantly asking how long it would take to get here during the journey. She'd finally told them to shut up, or else she'd pop the trunk and let the sunlight kill her undead boss – not to mention she'd drive off a bridge and drown both herself and Connor, if he didn't cut it out as well.

"Oh, believe me, it's worse," Angel mentioned, stretching to get the kinks out of his body. "I used to live here, so I know what I'm talking about."

"We're wasting time," Connor said curtly, before pointing to the house. "You're sure this is the place?"

"Yeah, son. Uh, wait, who's got that elixir to restore Cordelia's memory?" Angel asked, looking around at his crew.

"I do. And by the by, it's been nearly seventy-two hours," Lorne said warningly, bringing the metallic bottle out of his pocket. "Therefore, I suggest we don't dawdle."

Angel nodded and led the way to the house, before Connor rushed past him and started banging on the front door. It soon opened up, and everyone went inside –

* * *

 _A while later –1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale; not long after sunset:_

Cordelia's eyes almost bulged out of her head, after listening to Angel talk about the past three years or so. Especially the past twelve months, and everything that had happened –

How she'd hidden the fact that the visions she'd inherited from that Doyle guy were slowly killing her, and how she'd chosen to give up half of her humanity, thanks to some demon guide named Skip; _**instead**_ of choosing wealth and fame as a successful TV star. Her ascension and her return with amnesia, leading to living with Connor – and then asking Angel if they'd been in love, the night of the memory spell.

Well, at least that explained why the vampire had looked like he'd wanted to rush over and hug her, the moment he'd entered the house – before she'd lifted a stake and glared at him fiercely, to disabuse the walking corpse of _**that**_ insane notion. But as for everything else she'd heard –

Cordelia semi-yelled, "I _**so**_ did not do all that! I wouldn't have – who the hell _**is**_ this person you're talking about, mister!?"

Angel looked hurt and confused by the fact that she'd made it clear how she didn't trust him, or want to have anything to do with him. "Cordelia – "

"Don't talk to me like we're friends, either," she interrupted him angrily. "Like I said after you just barged in through the front door, I'm _**not**_ the Cordelia Chase you know! Not anymore, anyway. And sorry, but I don't know any of you people – apart from when we spoke for a few minutes back on Sunday night. And for the record, you little creep?"

Cordelia looked at Connor and snarled, "You stay the _**hell**_ away from me! Understand? Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the save from that band of intended rapists, but that gratitude only goes so far – and you try to grab me and haul me off somewhere again, I'll hurt you badly!" She held up the wooden stake in her right hand a bit higher.

"She won't be the only one, either," Xander said, easily ignoring the glare from Angel's son.

"Look, no one is gonna try anything like that. Not in my home," Buffy said loudly, getting everyone's attention. "Is that clear?"

"Fine," Gunn shrugged.

"OK," Fred nodded.

"Peachy," Lorne added.

"Yeah, we... we didn't come here for a fight," Angel said, trying not to look bothered by how close she was standing to her boyfriend – but failing miserably, in Cordelia's not-so-humble opinion. The vampire then stared at Xander and asked, "So, what happened to your eye?"

Harris reached up to gingerly touch his left peeper. "Fortunes of war, I guess ya could say. Someone was trying to hurt Cordelia, I got in the way."

"Thank you," Angel replied, missing the uncomfortable look on Buffy's face. Not that she did. Then the vampire asked, "Who was it? Spike?"

"No. He's dust now," Dawn said, looking uncomfortable and upset. "Cordy killed him last night, after he tried to attack her and Xander."

Cordelia noticed the surprised look on Angel's face, but decided not to comment on it. Hey, priorities and all –

"Who's Spike?" Connor wanted to know, staring at the human incarnation of the Key.

"Spike was – Spike. He was a vampire who was in love with me, so much so that he went and got his soul back for me," Buffy said hollowly.

"WHAT?" most of Angel's Avengers yelped in surprise.

"No, never mind; I don't care any longer. If there's one less vampire in this world, so be it," Connor said with a slight shrug, causing some of the Scooby Gang to scowl at him. He then told Lorne, "Give her the elixir."

"Here ya go, Princess," the demon nodded. Cordelia took the bottle and looked at it, suspiciously. The green... thing then added, "Take a quick gulp of that – and please, hurry! Its use-by date must be coming up any second, since we've been chatting away like this for _**ages**_."

"What's it do?" Cordy demanded, looking around at Angel's Avengers.

"It'll break Lorne's spell, and finally restore your memories," Angel said by way of explanation.

"What?" more than one member of the Hellmouth crowd said in astonishment.

"Wait, no, Cordy – don't drink that! There's no telling what effect it might have on you, whether it'll activate that thing you've been infected with!" Willow said urgently.

"What are you talking about?" Connor demanded roughly, looking sick and tired about the delays. "No, never mind; again, I don't care. Cordelia, drink up! It's perfectly safe – everyone here has tried it, and it's restored them back to normal. Even him!" He pointed at his father.

"It's true, Cordelia. Please, there isn't much time, and that stuff is apparently very expensive. I mean, we can always get more, but... " Angel trailed off, seeing the suddenly-infuriated look on her face.

"You. Undead. Cheapskate," Cordelia growled at him, causing the vampire to step back in alarm. "You want me to drink this crap because you're worried about _**money?**_ Well, even if I wasn't going to say 'screw this' on general principles before, your attitude has pretty much clinched it!" So saying, she threw the metallic bottle at Angel's head, and he just barely managed to duck out of the way – as it crashed against the wall, the stopper came flying off and the no-longer-glowing blue liquid splattered all over the wallpaper, before the bottle fell to the ground with a loud 'thunk!'

"NO!" Connor yelled angrily, stepping forward – only to find Xander in his path.

"Back off, pal," he said with quiet menace. "Cordy's made her choice. And if that's how she feels, no one is going to _**force**_ her into doing anything she doesn't want to do. Including you."

Connor glared at him, but Xander was already looking in Angel's direction. "And you, Captain Forehead."

Angel ignored her boyfriend completely, and stepped forward, obviously hoping to reason with her somehow. But Cordelia just lifted her stake again and told him, "Do _**not**_ push your luck on this, Mister I Killed People for Centuries! 'Cause if you do? OK, I might not vaporize you like I did Spike; but I _**will**_ shove this stake so far up your ass that you'll be _**crapping**_ wooden splinters, for the rest of your un-life!"

Angel immediately stepped back, looking stunned. Willow and Jonathan wisely broke into the discussion at that point, and explained in more detail how she was infected with a dark presence of some kind, and that all of their research suggested that breaking the memory spell would wake up the whatever-it-was, with really bad results. This sparked another argument with Angel and his team, with the souled vampire insisting that her memory be restored anyway.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Willow demanded of Angel, starting to look angry. "You don't believe that I know what I'm talking about, with regards to that dark infection – or else you don't _**want**_ to believe it. So, which is it?"

"Angel?" Buffy asked, after the souled vampire refused to answer the question.

"Does it even matter? Because I've already made my decision, you know," Cordelia said scathingly, leaning against Xander as he put an arm around her waist and offered her unspoken support. "And just in case it isn't clear, Angel? I quit."

"What?" The vampire looked like he couldn't quite process that right now.

"You heard me; I quit. I resign. You no longer employ me. You are no longer part of my life in any way, shape or form! Is _**any**_ of this registering inside that empty space you call a brain up there?" she demanded, gesturing upwards with her stake. "I'm handing in my notice, and screw that whole 'two weeks' thing. We're done, right now – got it?"

"But, but you can't quit. Can you?" Fred looked alarmed and astonished by this latest development.

"Oh? And why can't I?" Cordy demanded angrily. "You think that I'm _**obligated**_ to stay with you people, for some insane-o reason? Or that I can't find another job here in Sunnydale? Or what, Little Miss Felony User?"

"Hey, now, Barbie – ain't no need for that," Gunn scowled at her. "This is what you were like as a teenager, girl, kinda makes me glad y'all grew up a bit before we met in L.A."

"Oh, well, _**thanks**_ for your input, Hair Club," Cordelia retorted sarcastically. "So, whatever happened to that Wesley guy? You lost him, after you two went out to hunt Angel down that night?"

There was a loud knock on the front door at that moment, and looking relieved, Buffy went to answer it. She opened the door, and Cordelia could see the Slayer's jaw drop immediately.

"Hello, Miss Summers. I hope I'm not arriving at a bad time?" Mr. Wyndam-Pryce asked politely, with a nervous-looking female teen standing beside him.

* * *

 _A few moments later – the same place; a while after sunset:_

"Whoa!" the teenage girl exclaimed, almost immediately after entering the house. She pointed at Lorne and said, "Who – what – is _**that?!**_ "

"Oh! Hello, sweet-cake," he gave her his most winning smile. "And you mean, little old moi? My name's Lorne. What's yours?"

"I'm Kennedy," the brunette replied in a rattled tone of voice, before looking around at the other occupants of the house. She then turned towards Wes and said, "OK, what's going on? I thought you said you were gonna take me somewhere safe – "

"That I did, and that I have," the former head of Angel Investigations cut her off. "This is the residence of the Vampire Slayer, Buffy Summers. The Chosen One – or, nowadays, one of the Chosen Two, as it were."

"Whatever. Look, Wes, we're kinda in the middle of a situation here –" the blond cupcake in question started to say impatiently.

"I know, Miss Summers. The First Evil's forces are slaughtering Potential Slayers all around the world. Miss Greene is one of them, I only just managed to prevent her murder whilst I was in New York," Wes interrupted coldly – and to Lorne's ear, he didn't sound as if he actually cared whether Little Miss Potential lived or died. "After a brief discussion on the subject with her father, it was decided to bring her here. Safety in numbers, and all that."

"Uh, so – would you like something to drink, or eat?" the Slayer's little sister asked Kennedy politely. "The kitchen's this way, if you do."

"Oh, God yes. I mean, airplane food? It is to vomit," the Potential Slayer nodded enthusiastically, as she followed Dawn out of the room.

"Uh, Wesley... " Fred started to say hesitantly.

"What?" the ex-Watcher asked, with not even a trace of warmth in his voice.

Lorne listened as Fred hesitantly suggested that maybe Wesley should have a look at the information which that Willow girl and Jonathan guy had unearthed regarding the 'dark virus' which the Princess had been infected with, before coming back from the Higher Realms. To his surprise, Angel immediately vetoed that suggestion –

"Why not? I mean, we need _**someone**_ to do the Watcher-type research, since Giles isn't here right now," the Buffy girl spoke up, looking at her ex-studmuffin oddly. "And Wes may have been a lot of things back then; but as I recall, he knew his way around the books, if nothing else!"

"Well, this is just a guess, of course – but I rather suspect that Angel no longer trusts me with regard to anything which he considers important. Including Cordelia's welfare," Wesley suddenly smirked. "Most likely because I was partly responsible for his son Connor, here... " Wes gestured towards Angel's little nipper, "...being kidnapped by his worst enemy, and raised by said enemy in a truly hellish demon dimension."

"Jeez. Really? And I actually attended Senior Prom with you? What the hell was wrong with me?" Cordelia asked with a look of distaste.

"Good question, kid. But it's not really one that's all that relevant right now," a Bronx-accented voice replied, as a lugubrious-looking man suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

* * *

 _A moment later – the same place; a while after sunset:_

Angel's eyes widened in amazement. "Whistler? What are you doing here?"

He vaguely noticed Buffy looking at the Messenger for the Powers with minor disgust, but didn't pay much attention to that. He was too busy looking and feeling stunned, after his former mentor sent him an insulting look – and then started to chastise him for being unable to avoid thinking with his schlong, where the women were concerned...

"Good grief, Rat Breath. Can't take my eyes off of you for a couple of years without you getting the hots for whatever femme you fixate on, can I? Cripes, but do you have any idea just how badly you've dropped the ball since leaving here and arriving in Hell-A?"

"What are you talking about?" Angel demanded roughly, surprise quickly turning into anger.

The new arrival started to explain, "My bosses Up There focus so much on the long view that they forget to keep an eye on the day to day stuff – and, unfortunately, they keep the guys like me hoppin' around too much to always monitor a situation properly. Not an excuse, I know, just a reason. And it's just like with Blondie way back when; apparently, no one ever saw the situation with the Cheerleader coming!"

Whistler obviously saw the look of confusion on his face and added, "Newsflash, but that girl was never supposed to go to the City of Angels – _**or**_ end up your conduit to the Powers, Dumbass! See, the way the threads of Fate would have originally worked out, she was supposed to have Hyena Boy to fall back on when all her money went poof, and stay here in Hellville." Whistler gestured vaguely to a stunned-looking Xander, who still had one arm around Cordelia; only she was the one supporting him, now.

The Messenger kept on going, "Eventually, Vision Girl would have awakened into her psychic potential on her own, like all natural-born Seers do around age twenty-one, and ended up as an ace in the hole for Blondie here – keeping the Slayer out of all kinds of problems. _**You**_ , schmuck, were supposed to hang on to that damned Gem of Amara, and use it to keep your original conduit from needing to croak when the Scourge came to town. Unfortunately, I forgot that thinking isn't exactly your strong point, and so I didn't drop by to spot-check things often enough... oh, and tell you to get your head out of your ass every once in a while, too!"

Angel growled. "Don't talk to me like that. I'm the Champion for the Powers, not you!"

"Yeah? Well, then – listen up, _**champ**_. The truth is, you still don't know squat about what's really going on here!" Whistler said forcefully.

"What's that mean?" Cordelia demanded heatedly.

Angel honestly couldn't believe it as Whistler told her that one of the Powers had gone rogue – that the rogue had been playing its own game for a long time, and having its agents manipulate things behind everyone's backs, leading to Cordelia ending up where she did. The Messenger also mentioned how there was some major housecleaning going on Up There, now that the rogue had been found out and had gone on the run – but luckily, that end of things wasn't his job. "My job is to try and clean up the debris down here, y'know – try to put things back on track as best I can, with the least amount of damage to all concerned."

"I don't believe you. Hell, I don't believe a word of it," Angel growled again. "In fact, I want you to leave. Whistler, none of us want or need you here – "

"Speak for yourself, vampire. Because personally, I find all this fascinating!" Wesley interrupted, ignoring all the looks from practically everyone else. He then said to Whistler, "Hrmm. I'm correct in assuming, am I not, that this rogue Power was the one behind the false prophecy I uncovered that Angel would kill his own son? It secretly manipulated that time-shifter demon, Sahjhan, into doing everything he did?"

"Got it in one, Book Guy," Whistler nodded. He glanced over Connor and said, "There is – or was – a specific timetable. One involving you – and her." The Messenger gestured at Cordelia. "The Power in question couldn't afford to wait a couple decades for you to grow up in this dimensional neck of the woods, which is why that whole thing with Holtz and that hell world you ended up in was set up. And what the rogue wanted for you to do with the Cheerleader – please, nobody ask what it is, if you don't want to up-chuck – kid, you couldn't pull it off as a baby; plus, odds are you'd have been killed by Rat Boy's enemies at some point during the intervening years. Your old man couldn't have protected you from every damn thing out to get the Miracle Kid, after all."

"That's it! I told you to leave – " Angel roared, vamping out and stalking forward.

Straightaway, the Powers' messenger showed him a demonstration of power that Angel couldn't ignore; namely, Whistler morphed into his demon form (a humanoid body but with a blue head made of fire, with black ibex horns) and then he plunged his fist through Angel's gut and out the other side, before saying, "I'm not your minion or your lackey, you undead idjit. I've got a job to do, and I'm not exactly defenseless, either. So _**don't**_ get in my way or try to screw with me, or you'll regret it even more than you do now!"

Angel couldn't believe it, as he fell to the ground after Whistler withdrew his blood- and guts-covered arm. Buffy screamed his name and went over to him, and then glared at Whistler. Through the pain, Angel saw his former mentor morph back to human form and then say to the Slayer, "I can do that to you as well, Blondie, if you decide it's 'make a hat out of my ribcage' time. Far as me and my bosses as concerned, you're expendable – now that the other Slayer's been reformed and let out of her cage."

The Messenger then saw Cordelia looking at him, and shrugged. "Sorry, Toots, but the little Tree Witch and Geek Boy over there were absolutely right: you got violated by a _**nasty**_ hitch-hiker up there in the Higher Realms, and if it ever wakes up, what it links to is gonna be all kinds of bad. So you're gonna have to live without the last four and a half years for the rest of your life, unless you actually want to unleash an evil abomination that was destined to end up eating a huge chunk of L.A.'s human population. But what little upside there is, is that if Greenie's memory spell isn't tampered with – then Witchy Girl and Nerd Boy might succeed in exorcising your hitch-hiker one day. Afterwards, some of the memories may trickle back on their own, or they may not. Still, better that than the alternative... "

"Yeah, right," Cordelia nodded slowly. "'Cause _**that**_ sounds like it's just made of suck!"

Whistler then said to Willow, "You might wanna try looking in Bristow's Demon Index and Rhinehardt's Compendium for clues. And as for you, champ?" The Messenger turned to stare him disparagingly. "You may as well hit the road and head on back to L.A. – because this particular Seer isn't your conduit to the Powers any longer."

"NO!" Angel roared, finally struggling to his feet with Buffy's help, and glaring at his former mentor.

"Excuse me, Mr. Bleeding All Over the Carpet? Didn't you hear me quit working for you, just a few minutes ago?" Cordelia interjected, looking annoyed.

"Cordelia, will you knock it off and let me handle this?!" Angel growled at her, his sense of judgment not at its best right at the moment, what with all the terrible pain he was in. He realized his mistake a moment later, though, and said apologetically, "No, I-I didn't mean it like that – "

"Freudian slip, I think they call it. Kinda telling," Xander interjected, before blithely ignoring the dirty look Angel sent his way.

"Whistler – " Angel then started to say, though whether it was a warning or a plea, even he wasn't sure right now.

"Again, I'm telling you to knock it off with the attitude, Deadite. I'm not here to pander to your ego, I'm here as a representative from the Powers – and since they're _**not**_ happy right now, neither am I. And just in case it never occurred to you to wonder – do you have _**any**_ idea what my bosses did to me, after my star protégé lost his soul and joined Team Evil back then? If you want, I can show you in painful and excruciating detail... "

Snorting, the half-demon subsequently informed him that he would be getting a new Seer soon enough, and that the Powers were going to give Cordy the opportunity to regain the life she would have had if her original fate hadn't been messed with. Whistler then told Cordelia, "I know it's small recompense, doll – but from now on the visions and the demon powers are yours and yours alone, and you're not tied to any particular Champion or 'mission' any longer. It's your life; and it's up to you to live it as you see fit."

Then he wished everyone all the best, made some cryptic comment about the First along the lines of "Don't believe everything you hear," and then pulled one of his annoying disappearing acts; vanishing into thin air.

Angel couldn't help it; he stormed off, straight out the front door.

"Gee. Is it just me, or is that guy being a bit of a drama queen about all this?" he heard Xander ask facetiously, as he stopped outside the threshold.

Angel then heard Cordelia reply, "It's not just you, Dork. And what the hell was I thinking, working with him for the past three years?"

"So, what now?" Connor asked, his voice low and thick with disappointment.

"Personally, I have no clue," Angel heard Harris reply. "Clueless, am I."

* * *

 _A while later – outside 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale; early evening:_

Wesley looked at her and said, "So, that's it; I'm off back to Los Angeles. I do have a life there to get back to, after all."

"Will we be hearing from you again soon?" Buffy asked, trying to reconcile this new, stubbly and capable version of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce with the bumbling incompetent she'd been saddled with thanks to the Council, all those years ago.

"Oh, I'd imagine so. There are quite a few Potentials in this country, and it's a race to find them all before the First Evil and its Bringers do so. Thus, most likely I'll be bringing you quite a few girls in the weeks to come, to keep Miss Greene company. Just like Mr. Giles and the rest of the Council."

"Yeah. Oh, I almost forgot! Before you go – could you come with me over to the new high school? There's something I'd like your professional opinion on – something Jonathan and Andrew dug up the other night. It's called the, uh, seal of Dance-bizarre?" Buffy tried but failed to remember the name Jonathan had mentioned to her.

"The seal of _**what?**_ "

Instantly, Buffy looked annoyed. "Well, excuse me if I can't pronounce it properly! It's some typically stupid, incomprehensible, demon-related name. Uh, like danze-tar? Dan – "

"Miss Summers. Are you talking about a seal of Danzalthar?" Wesley now looked very concerned.

"Yeah, that's it! Dan-whatever. What?" Buffy asked him, suddenly looking worried herself.

"You need to show me. Immediately. Has blood been shed upon it, after it was dug up?" Wes asked quickly.

"Uh, no. I mean, Andrew tried to stab Jonathan with a knife while they were standing on top of it, but Cordy had a vision about the murder – and she and Xander got there just in time to stop it. Why do you ask?"

"Because had it been activated by that sort of ritual sacrifice, it might very well have meant the end of this world as we know it. Let's go!" Wes ordered his former Slayer.

* * *

 _The same time – Sunnydale Bus Depot, Sunnydale; early evening:_

Groo and Faith disembarked off the Greyhound bus, having been greatly delayed – but now having _**finally**_ arrived at their destination. The Pylean Champion looked around and said, "Slayer Faith, this place is truly cursed – I can sense it. Never before have I ever felt such evil; not even within the Scum Pits of Ur."

Faith shrugged; it had been a long day since breakfast within that diner, and they had talked a lot to pass the time while waiting for the opportunity to grab Groo's sword from where it had been hidden. Thus, she knew all about Pylea, and everything the beefcake had done while acting as the chief enforcer of the Convent of Trombones, or whatever the hell those demons had called themselves. "Yeah. And I could say that it gets better, that eventually you get used to it – but unfortunately, I'd be a liar if I did."

Groo nodded. "How do you suggest we proceed?"

"Hike it over to B's place first, I guess," Faith frowned. "Hopefully, you'll be able to find Queen C there. If not, we'll head on over to my old boy-toy's apartment, and ask Xander where you can find her. And sheesh, is _**he**_ gonna be surprised when I show my face at his front door!"

They were still walking as Faith said that, and heading towards the street; when a young man came out of the depot building and saw them. Just as they saw him.

"Oz?" she said, looking stunned.

"Faith," the werewolf replied with perfect equanimity. "Who's your friend?"

"You may call me Groo," he introduced himself politely

"About time you all got here," Amy Madison said, showing up out of nowhere – and then staring at the Slayer intently. "And Faith, nice to finally meet you."

"And you are?" the warrior woman demanded.

"Name's Amy Madison," the witch introduced herself.

{ _Fascinating. I suspect that the various poles of Destiny have finally come together, now that we have all met in this accursed place,_ } Groo thought to himself curiously, looking around at all his companions. { _Especially for myself, in terms of the new destiny that was promised to me..._ }

* * *

... the end.

Just kidding. :)

Actually, the truth is that this story is almost done - just a few more chapters to go; wrapping up the various plot points in this fic, and setting things up for the sequel (if and when it's written). It's been fun sharing our ideas and plot developments with you over the past couple of months, and as always, we thank you for reading and reviewing the fanfic! We _do_ get your feedback, even if the site is acting up again and hasn't been publishing reviews lately. Having said that, garfan, thank you for your review; and Guest, your review of "how the hell do you write someone like that and claim to like them?" was more than a bit unclear; if you want to PM us and explain what you meant in more detail, I promise we'll do our best to address your concerns. Seriously, everyone - please don't be shy in telling us what you thought of the latest chapter!


	28. Epilogue I

**Epilogue I**

 _Thursday, November 14, 2002 – Wolfram & Hart Los Angeles branch, Los Angeles; evening:_

Lilah was worried, even though she did her best not to show it. After that _**disaster**_ in Stockton, she'd known she was skating on thin ice, but this –

"The White Room," Gavin Park said, as they walked towards the elevator. "I was here two years before I even heard about that place. And now they want to us to go there? I honestly can't help wondering what we'll find."

"Answers," Lilah replied shortly.

"Hrmm, yes, but what sort of answers? I knew a guy in Litigation, he was sent to the White Room; and nowadays, he's in an asylum," Gavin remarked casually.

"Too bad for him," Lilah riposted, determined not to let her minion psych her out on this. They arrived at the elevator, and Gavin pushed the button for them to go up. A polite bell sounded, before the elevator doors opened and they went inside.

Lilah ignored Gavin as the male attorney stood silently beside her. She punched the floor buttons in a specific order, 18-23-20-28-27; and a new, bigger button subsequently appeared above all the others. Without hesitation, Lilah pressed it; and the elevator dissolved into a blinding white light. When the brightness dimmed, Gavin and Lilah found themselves in a massive, empty, white chamber.

"Hello," a brown-haired little girl sitting primly in a white chair said. Or what looked to be a little girl, anyway. She was wearing a knee-length red dress with a white lace collar, white stockings plus black Mary-Janes, and yet – Lilah could _**feel**_ the ancient dark power wafting off of her. It. Whatever. "Welcome to the White Room."

"Thank you for having us," Gavin said obsequiously.

"Yes, what he said. We received your summons, now – how can I help you?" Lilah asked straightforwardly.

"You, help me?" the little girl asked with a short giggle. "That's very amusing; because I'm your Conduit to the Senior Partners. By the way, your fingernails are pretty. I love red."

"I'm glad you approve. It's Big Apple Red, OPI classic nail lacquer version," Lilah replied without hesitation.

"The Senior Partners aren't happy with you," the little girl went on, ignoring that comment. "But then, they're always unhappy about something. Ever since the time of the Old Ones, when the pure demons walked the Earth – and the Powers That Be banished the Wolf, Ram and Hart from your reality."

"Of course. Now, I'm assuming my ledger isn't red enough for my immediate termination, or we wouldn't be having this conversation," Lilah replied, somehow managing to keep her voice steady. "So. What can I do to make up for what's happened lately?"

The little girl glanced over at Gavin. "Kill him."

Gavin backed away in horror, as Lilah brought a Ruger P95 out of her handbag, and aimed it at him. "No, wait, please-!"

 _ **BANG!**_

"Is there anything else?" Lilah asked politely, putting the pistol back in her purse and ignoring the now-bleeding body which had collapsed to the white floor, quickly staining it red.

"Yes, one or two things," the Conduit replied. "The Senior Partners want me to inform you of the situation on the California Hellmouth – the seers say that in about six months, it's possible you'll need to send your old friend Angel there with one of Wolfram & Hart's baubles to ensure the First Evil doesn't destroy the mortal realm completely. Then again, it's equally possible you won't have to do that; depending on what the Slayers and their Watchers get up to in the meantime."

"Understood. What else?" Lilah made a mental note to keep her calendar relatively clear during May, just in case.

The little girl smiled. "Oh, you'll find out. And personally, I can't wait to see what happens after you inform your former lover that he's going to be a father... "

The White Room immediately exploded into dazzling white light all over again, and then Lilah found herself back in the elevator, alone – before the Conduit's words truly impacted upon her brain, and she almost fainted from shock.

* * *

 _A while later – Xander's apartment, Sunnydale; evening:_

Cordelia managed to hang on to her self-control until she and Xander finally arrived home, and then she broke down and started weeping in his arms. She was in mourning over the four and a half years that she'd most likely never get back, and all of the memories which she'd now lost; maybe forever.

She said, in between sniffles, "Damn it, Dweeb, this isn't _**fair!**_ I mean, yeah, most of what I've forgotten, odds are I'd probably say good riddance to it – but still, there's some stuff I'm sure I'd want to remember! Our first time together, if nothing else!"

"I know, sweetheart. I know," Xander murmured comfortingly into her ear. "But it's gonna be OK, somehow. Eventually. As long as we've got 'us', everything's gonna work out all right."

She sniffed, "You really are a complete dork."

"Your dork."

"And don't you forget it!"

"How could I possibly do that?" Harris waggled an eyebrow at her, which caused Cordy to smirk, wipe away the tears and calm down.

"Well, for your own good, you better not ever figure it out!" Cordelia smiled, before leaning forward and kissing him softly.

Xander leaned forward as well, almost melting into that long, slow, agonizingly gentle kiss. "I love you," he said, before he kissed her again. "I want you." And again. "I need you." And again. "And there ain't no way I'm ever gonna leave you."

A laugh huffed out of Cordelia's lips. "Pretty sure that isn't the way those lyrics go, Dumbass."

"Screw the lyrics."

"Rather screw you," the Seer said into his mouth, after kissing him.

"Is that an actual offer?" Xander asked after pulling back a little, eyebrows rising. "I mean, we sorta discussed going all the way soon during lunch today, but – "

"Shut up, Idiot Boy," Cordy interrupted, before briefly kissing him again. "'Cause I'm in serious need of boyfriend comfort right now. In your bedroom – well, _**ours**_ from now on!"

It was a good thing that Phantom Dennis was able to muffle the screams of passion that soon erupted from the master bedroom – or else, that would have been the final straw as far as the neighbors were concerned, in terms of complaining to the landlord about the nutcase living in Apartment 2D.

* * *

 _A while later – kitchen of 1630 Revello Drive, Sunnydale; night:_

Connor looked thoughtful, as he munched on the sandwich Dawn had made for him. "This tastes nice, thank you."

"You're welcome," the female teen shrugged.

Staring at her briefly, Connor wasn't entirely sure why she'd offered him a free meal; but he figured that Dawn had probably seen the look on his face after Cordelia had left the house with that Xander person – and 'heartbroken' didn't even begin to come close to expressing what he'd felt at that moment.

Even having heard the reasons why, Connor still couldn't quite believe how the woman he loved had refused to drink that elixir, not even needing a moment to think about it. Likewise, he couldn't really understand why Cordelia had acted so _**angry**_ towards him –

"So. You and Cordelia, huh?" Dawn asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?" Connor asked, instantly feeling defensive.

"Oh, please! The way you were staring at her earlier tonight? Doesn't take a genius to figure out you majorly have the hots for her," Dawn said cynically. "Hey, I oughta know – I used to have that exact same expression on my face, every time I looked at Xander!"

"Yes, but does it matter? I mean, Cordelia – she's made her choice... and she didn't choose me. Thanks to my mistakes back in Los Angeles, she hates me now," he said broodily.

"Meh. I dunno if I'd go so far as saying that she, like, _**hates**_ you," Dawn shrugged. "I mean, way I see it? Cordelia doesn't like you, and she doesn't trust you, but actual hate? Pretty sure that's reserved for my big sister, instead of you. Seeing as how she punched Xander unconscious last night, and he's Cordy's boyfriend now."

Connor looked up, interested. "That Buffy person was the one who caused that man's injuries?"

"Yeah," Dawn exhaled loudly. "Caused me quite a few issues, actually. I mean, Buffy's my _**sister**_ – but Xander's family, too. Nowadays, he's like the big brother I never had, ya know?"

"No," Connor shook his head straightaway. "Because I don't have any siblings. I'm unique. The so-called Miracle Child," he said with a small sneer. "And you heard that demon calling himself Whistler; apart from Holtz, I grew up alone in Quor-toth."

"Right," Dawn said musingly.

"Aren't you going to ask me what Quor-toth was like? Just about everyone does at this point," Connor asked in mild surprise.

"Nah," Dawn shook her head. "I figure if you'd wanted to tell me, you would have done it without my asking. Besides, I know what it's like to be on the receiving end of that sort of thing – every time the Key stuff comes up."

"Key stuff?"

"Yep. You might be surprised to know that my crazy childhood kinda rivals yours, in the sense that I didn't actually have one," Dawn snorted. "I'm barely a little over two years old, technically speaking. Before that, I was a big blob of green energy somewhere in Eastern Europe called the Key."

"Huh?" Connor honestly didn't get that.

Dawn quickly told him the story about the monks of the Order of Dagon, the living energy they had guarded with their lives, the hellgod named Glory, and the reality alteration spell those holy men had pulled off to transform the Key into her; Dawn Summers. "And you wanna know the funny part? Cordelia doesn't remember me from before she left Sunnydale. At least, she doesn't anymore; I'm not sure about the whole pre-amnesia part of her life, but whatever. She's living proof, now, that I didn't exist as a human back then. That my life, the life I remember having before that spell – it's nothing but a lie."

"I know all about lies," Connor nodded. "The man I called 'Father' all my life, Holtz – he lied to me. So did that woman named Justine. And in a sense, Angel lied to me as well about my mother – apparently, he had quite the relationship with your sister a few years back?"

"Oh, yeah, the classic Buffy and Angel saga. You got a few hours for me to tell you all the sordid details?" Dawn smirked mischievously.

"I'd rather hear more about you," Connor said frankly, causing Dawn to blush.

"OK, you wanna trade embarrassing stories? Well, lemme tell you what happened to me during Buffy's birthday last year." She proceeded to do so, before saying, "And then, _**finally**_ the curse was lifted – after about forty freaking hours! And everyone pretty much ran out of the house, desperate for some fresh air. Well, apart from me and Buffy!"

"Sounds like fun. Doesn't compare to the way I sent Angel to the bottom of the ocean in a sealed coffin, though," Connor smiled at his female companion.

"Do tell," Dawn replied, her eyes wide. "Seriously. I wanna hear details!"

"Connor?"

Both he and Dawn turned and saw a pale and unhealthy-looking version of Angel standing at the doorway to the kitchen. The va – his _**father**_ was clutching his semi-healed stomach, before he let the hand doing so fall to his side; Connor figured Angel was trying not to appear weak in front of Dawn. Or possibly himself. "Yeah?"

"I was just wondering if you're ready to go? Back to L.A., I mean."

"You're leaving? Without Cordelia?" Connor asked in amazement.

"Son – I can't _**force**_ her to come home with us, if she doesn't want to," Angel replied, a haunted look appearing on his face. "All I can do at this point is hope that Cordy comes to her senses as soon as possible, especially where Xander's concerned – "

"Hey! Angel, don't you _**dare**_ talk about him like that!" Dawn interrupted angrily, glaring at his father. "I mean, Xander pretty much saved Cordelia's life last night! Not to mention earlier this week as well, from those two vampires at the Bronze! And what did you do? I heard you admit it, mister – you let the visions slowly kill Cordelia's brain after she became your Seer, without doing a darn thing to get rid of them, until she had no other choice but to become part-demon! Well, if she wanted to _**live**_ , anyway!"

"That's different," Angel replied defensively, looking away. "I mean, we didn't know what the visions were doing to her; Cordy kept it a secret from all of us. Until it was almost too late, and then that Skip person – "

"Demonized her, yeah, I heard," Dawn interrupted in annoyance. "Still, what if he hadn't? What would you have done, if there hadn't been any last-minute save by that guy? You'd have just called the local funeral parlor, and then waited for the Powers to send you a new Seer?"

"No, of course not! Dawn, I would have done – something! I dunno what, but I would have done whatever was necessary to save Cordelia's life! She means far too much to me not to have done so," Angel defended himself, before his shoulders slumped. "But I guess none of that matters now. So, Connor – are you ready to go?"

"Actually? I think I'll stick around here, for now," Connor replied, walking over to his father. "You go ahead without me, I'll be fine."

"What? But, but that's – I mean, you – where, where are you even gonna stay around here-?" Angel spluttered, before realization appeared in his eyes. "Look, son, if you're planning to steal Cordelia from Xander against her will, kidnap her or something – "

"Oh, that's ridiculous!" Dawn interrupted derisively. Then she frowned, looking over at him. "Right?"

"Right," Connor said, briefly looking annoyed. Then he said to his father, "And you can relax – I'm not _**that**_ stupid." He couldn't prevent the bitterness and disappointment from appearing in his voice as he added, "I know that if I try anything like that, Cordelia might actually kill me. Like she killed that vampire, Spoke – or whatever its name was."

"Spike," Dawn and Angel said at the same time, before briefly looking at one another.

"Spike, right. But the point is, I don't feel comfortable leaving Cordelia here all by herself – and I'm sure you don't either, Dad," he said in his most reasonable voice. "Besides. Didn't you tell me that Kate suggested I stay away from Los Angeles, for at least the next six months? Preferably even longer? And isn't Sunnydale as good a place as any to do that?"

"With all the vamps and evil demons we have around here?" Dawn interjected in astonishment. "I'm thinking, not!"

Connor shot her an annoyed look, before focusing back on Angel. "Look, you're always asking me to trust you. And if you want me to do that, then _**you**_ need to trust _**me**_. Seriously, Dad – I survived Quor-toth, so I can survive here! Plus I still have your cell phone, remember?" He brought the device out of his jacket pocket. "It's not like you couldn't call me whenever you want to check that everything's OK, right?"

"Well, I dunno. Angel, have you actually learned how to use a cell phone since the old days?" Dawn asked innocently.

His father looked like he had to force himself not to glare at her. "Yeah, I have. Well, sort of –"

"OK, good. So, you can show me how to do that, right? Just to satisfy my curiosity," the female teen interrupted, smirking slightly.

"Dawn... " Angel trailed off, looking vexed.

"Yep. Connor's never gonna hear from you again," Dawn tried not to laugh, but didn't succeed very well.

His father then said, "No, never mind. Look, son, the thing is – I worry about you. All the time. I'm sorry, but I just can't help it! Because you're the most important thing in the entire world to me," Angel said without hesitation. "I know you're of an age now that you want your independence, but – you don't understand just how hard it is for me to let go that way. Especially considering how much of your childhood I missed out on."

Dawn turned away, looking embarrassed. "I'm, uh, I've got this thing to do – upstairs. Homework! Yeah, that's it. So, um, you two talk things out. And hey, Connor, if you decide to stay in this one-Starbucks hellhole? I'll see you later. Bye!"

Connor watched her leave, moving aside so that the girl could exit via the kitchen door. He never noticed how Angel watched him watch her depart, with a certain... something in his eyes.

{ _Good grief,_ } his father thought to himself, { _the boy can't possibly be thinking of getting into Dawn's pants, can he? Buffy would kill him the moment she found out! Well, unless someone else tried to kill him first..._ }

"So, where are Fred and Gunn and Lorne? And Wesley?" Connor asked, unaware of what Angel was thinking right now.

"Wes, uh, I think he went to the high school to check something out with Buffy; I'm not sure what," Angel shrugged. "He's got his own operation going nowadays; so, so I dunno know what his plans actually are. As for Fred and Gunn and Lorne, they're waiting outside; they've already said their goodbyes to everyone here."

"I see – wait, what was that?" Connor asked suspiciously. "You almost flinched when you said Lorne's name. Why?"

Angel looked aside. "He told me... Lorne mentioned that he'd managed to convince Cordelia to sing for him again, after I left. And, uh, he refused to tell me anything about what he saw, saying that Cordy didn't want him to blab what he'd learned to _**me**_ – but that look of relief on Lorne's face? Pretty much told me all I needed to know, son. Namely, whatever Cordy's destiny is now... it doesn't include me – or all the bad stuff he foresaw coming, the last time she sang for him. And I figured out how Lorne only let me know that much so that I didn't try anything stupid, damn it. Anyway, getting back on topic – are you _**sure**_ you want to stay here on the Hellmouth?"

"Positive," Connor replied without hesitation. "I'll be fine. From what I've heard, there are plenty of vampires and evil demons to kill around here if I end up bored or whatever. Plus, this place is something new; it's different to Los Angeles. It'll be a good learning experience to stay here a while, if nothing else."

Angel hesitated, before finally giving in to the inevitable. "OK, son. In that case, here." His father leaned forward and pressed a wad of cash into Connor's right hand. "Take it. And please, don't argue; it'll give me a _**little**_ peace of mind knowing that you won't be living on the streets, until you start earning your own money. All right?"

Connor brought the paper notes up to examine them carefully, before looking back at his father. He said slowly, "All right, fine. But this is just a loan – I _**will**_ pay you back, eventually. The next time I see you, when you come to town."

"All right, if that's the way you want it. Good luck, son – and call me if you need anything!" Angel gave him a quick, impulsive hug.

"I will," Connor replied, mildly astonished as he realized just how true that statement was. "G'bye, Dad."

"So long for now, son."

* * *

 _A short while later – alley near the Sunnydale Promenade, Sunnydale; night:_

Buffy slowly walked to where Xander and Cordelia had said that Spike had been killed. No, make that murdered –

OK, fine, so maybe that term didn't really apply – not if it truly had been self-defense under those circumstances. Which, deep down, she pretty much knew it was; otherwise, Xander's words last night wouldn't have stung so much. Especially after Willow had confessed how he'd been financially supporting everyone living at 1630 Revello Drive for _**ages**_...

Still, bottom line, Spike was gone now; and the worst part was that it felt like she was the only one who was mourning his loss.

Unbidden, roughly six years' worth of memories of her undead lover quickly flowed through Buffy's mind –

{ _The truth is, I like this world. You've got... dog racing, Manchester United, and you've got people. Billions of people walking around like Happy Meals with legs. It's all right here._ }

{ _Love isn't brains, children, it's blood. Blood screaming inside you to work its will. I may be love's bitch, but at least I'm man enough to admit it._ }

{ _They're strong, and I can't fight. If they get in, I don't know if I can protect you._ }

{ _I know you'll never love me. I know that I'm a monster, but you treat me like a man, and that's... get your stuff, I'll be here._ }

{ _We kissed, you and me. All Gone With The Wind. With the rising music, and the rising... music. And what was that, Buffy?_ }

{ _Why does a man do what he mustn't? For her. To be hers. To be the kind of man who would nev – to be a kind of man. And she shall look on him with forgiveness... and everybody will forgive and love. And he will be loved. So everything's OK, right? C-can we rest now? Buffy? Can we rest?_ }

"Yeah, Spike. We can rest now. You rest in peace," Buffy said gently, and placed a bouquet of flowers on the ground. "I, I know what we had together was never entirely – normal, and there was almost as much bad as there was good, but in the end – yeah. I know you loved me. And I guess I loved you as well, at least a little; otherwise, this wouldn't hurt so damn much. Goodbye, Spike, at least for now. 'Cause I'm sure we'll meet again someday, somehow." So saying, she turned around and quickly exited the alley.

She never heard the First Evil, using Spike's face and form, sneer at her and say, "Shows what _**you**_ know, Slayer. Didn't I tell ya that you'll never see yer loved ones again, come the day? Ah, bugger this; I've got more important things to do! Like getting me Bringers to grab that idjit Andrew, in order ta open up that bloody seal... "

* * *

 _Friday, November 15, 2002 – outside the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; not long after midnight:_

Angel wasn't in the best of moods, as his Plymouth convertible came to a halt in the carport and Gunn's truck parked not far away. He did his best to ignore Lorne, who was talking into his cell phone about some sort of nightclub performance on Saturday night, before the anagogic demon walked off into the garden for some privacy. Angel's mind was too full of the two people he'd left behind in Sunnydale to be concerned about that right now.

{ _It's not right. This_ _ **isn't**_ _the way things should be, and screw Whistler and his pronouncements from the Powers,_ } Angel thought to himself gloomily, and with more than a tiny bit of frustration. { _I swear, the worst part is knowing that there's absolutely_ _ **nothing**_ _I can do about the situation with Connor or Cordelia – if I try, it'll just make things worse! Damn it..._ }

Angel's eyes then slid over to Fred and Gunn, who looked like they were in the middle of an argument. Without warning, Fred slapped the black man in the face, and then stomped away to her car. The souled vampire watched her get in, start the ignition and then drive off down Hyperion Avenue.

"Hey. What happened?" Angel asked Gunn, as the human joined him with a dejected look on his face.

"Uh, Fred 'n me are now officially broken up. Guessin' you saw what just happened between us," Gunn said miserably.

"Yeah. Sorry," Angel said sympathetically. "Believe it or not, right now? I can relate."

"Yeah," Gunn mused, looking down at the ground, before lifting his head up again. "We are talkin' you and Barbie, right?"

"Yeah," Angel replied, looking aside. "Guess that old saying's true – you don't know what you've got 'til you lose it."

"Shit. How the hell did we get here?" Gunn briefly threw his arms up in dismay. "I mean – time was, we were a family! But now look at us: English is gone, and Cordy's hit the road, too. Even your kid ain't around no more. Fred and I are splitsville, so who the hell knows? Maybe she'll be next to just up and leave!"

"I – don't think so," Angel replied uncertainly. "I mean, did she say anything about that just now, before she drove off? And where'd Fred go, anyway?"

"I dunno. Prob'ly her favorite diner, it's open all night," Gunn shrugged. "And no, she didn't say nothing 'bout quitting 'fore she left. But the way our luck has been goin' lately? Wouldn't want to put money on Fred stickin' around!"

"Huh. C'mon, Gunn. I've got some Irish whiskey in my office, I think we could both do with a drink," Angel offered tiredly.

"Yeah. Why not? Got nothin' else to do right now," Gunn muttered, following him toward the hotel.

Angel heard the sound of female weeping within the lobby, the closer he and Gunn came to the front doors of the hotel. The sounds were familiar, too; more than familiar, even...

"What the _**hell?!**_ " Gunn exploded after he followed Angel into the building, instinctively whipping out a stake after seeing the crying vampiress in the lobby. "What's _**she**_ doin' here?!"

"Good question," Angel said evenly, not making any move to attack – but not stopping Gunn from waving the wooden stake threateningly, either. "Why are you here, Dru?"

"They made me come," Drusilla told him, wiping away the liquid from her cheeks. "The voices. Miss Edith. The stars. The moon. They all told me I had to be 'ere. That the Angel-beast would need me."

"What the frack you talkin' about, nutcase?" Gunn demanded roughly, obviously still waiting for the demented vampiress to attack.

"They put the spark in me. It burns," Dru told him, her head weaving back and forth. "It burns ever so brightly, it does. Just like it did with my poor Willy. Just like it does with my bad Daddy."

Gunn's eyes went wide. "You're shitting me. Right? You, you got your soul back?"

"Yes. It's there, I can smell it," Angel said shortly, never talking his eyes off the crazed female vampire. "Who did this to you, Dru?"

"Why ask the question, when you already know the answer?" the undead Seer started to sway unsteadily on her feet. "Them, not-Daddy. T-h-e-m. The nasty man in the hat and his pet witch, I don't like them... "

"You mean Whistler-? Oh, wait, now I get it. You're my new Seer, aren't you?" Angel asked her, after managing to join all the dots together.

"Holy shit!" Gunn took a step back, instantly looking horrified. "HER? This loony is our new Vision Girl, who's s'posed to be takin' Barbie's place? This is grade-A nuts!"

"Is it?" Angel asked rhetorically, briefly glancing at the former gang leader – before staring back at the worst crime Angelus had ever committed. To the undead Champion's mind, the choice of Drusilla as his new Seer made a horrible sort of sense, at least the way Whistler and his bosses would see it.

Despite the presence of her soul, it was obvious Dru wasn't mentally healed; which gave him a reason to take care of her, and at the same time – make certain that he wasn't tempted to fall in love with her, and risk having another moment of perfect happiness. Deep down, Angel figured all this was part of his redemption – namely, finding a way to heal Dru and bring her back to sanity. And, probably, drive himself crazy by having to try to decipher her visions...

"I want to go to Saint Bridget's," Drusilla abruptly pronounced, staring at him.

"Where?" Gunn blinked, still not relaxing in the slightest in Dru's presence.

"Saint Bridget's. It's a convent in Fremont, built on native burial grounds. The land's cursed; they had eight murders in two years there, before the whole place burned to the ground – which is nothing compared to what happened at Our Lady of Lochenbee... " Angel trailed off, seeing Gunn's look. "I, uh, used to have a thing for convents. Anyway, the state dug a water tank there. We visited the place a couple of years ago; you remember, that battle with that thrall demon?"

"Yeah, vaguely," Gunn shrugged. "Huh. What was it called again? Road fog?"

"Turfog," Angel corrected him, before focusing back on Drusilla. "Look, Dru – "

"Saint Bridget's. Holy orders. Touch not the impure thing, or thou shalt perish! Find salvation in the cross of our Lord and savior," Drusilla babbled crazily, her eyes darting back and forth throughout the lobby.

"Uh, Drusilla? You're still a vampire, soul or otherwise. I mean, you can't join a convent and become a nun. It's just not possible," Angel told her, delicately.

"Oh, pooh," Drusilla said in reply, changing gears so abruptly it almost gave him whiplash. "Then I want the blood of a virgin!"

"Sorry, Dru – but that's not an option, either," Angel shook his head. Glancing at Gunn, he said to his friend, "We're gonna have to start weaning her off human blood, and the sooner the better. Can you get me some pig's blood from the fridge in my office?"

Gunn shrugged and silently obliged. Angel tried to talk to Drusilla in the intervening time, but she childishly ignored him – almost like a little girl whose daddy had refused permission to eat her favorite sweet. Eventually, Charles arrived back after warming the blood up in the microwave, and he handed the red fluid to Angel. "Here ya go, man. Nuked fresh 'n all."

"Thanks." He then gave the mug of blood to Drusilla. "Go on, Dru, drink up."

The crazy female vamp took a sip, and then spat it out at once in disgust. She then threw the rest of the blood directly into Angel's face, snarling, "Bad Angel-beast! Tastes like worms in my baguette, it does!"

Angel made no attempt to wipe the blood of swine off his face; he knew Gunn was already off to get him a wet towel from the kitchen in order to do that. He just stared at Drusilla, with one pessimistic thought in his mind:

{ _Said it before and I'll say it again, atonement's a_ _ **bitch**_ _..._ }

* * *

 _Roughly eighteen hours later – the Bronze, Sunnydale; night:_

As Kennedy sat within her booth and listened to Aimee Mann and her bandmates play _This Is How It Goes_ on stage, she couldn't help wondering how on earth her life had changed so drastically, and in such a short time.

Roughly forty-eight hours ago, she had been a normal nineteen-year-old girl – well, Potential Slayer, and incredibly rich, but whatever – and she had been quite content with a great personal tutor and a number of college friends. But now? She was living on the other side of the country, with a target painted on her back, and fallen in amongst people whose lives were pure _**insanity!**_

She glanced around and saw quite a few of her new acquaintances within the teen club. Most of them were keeping an eye on that Cordelia Chase person, who was dancing with her boyfriend – that Xander Harris guy. Not surprising, really, after the Summers house had been invaded by those Bringer creeps, and that Andrew Wells guy had been killed –

{ _There is no way I'm staying there any longer, not even temporarily,_ } Kennedy swore to herself. { _If Daddy doesn't send me the money for a place of my own, then I'll get a hotel room or something, and ask Mr. Wyndam-Pryce to ward it against vampires –_ }

"Hey. Mind if I join you?"

Kennedy blinked, as a beautiful black woman casually slid into the booth without waiting for an invitation. "And you are?"

"Name's Aura. Aura White," the woman introduced herself with an inviting smile. She looked almost the same age as Kennedy herself – maybe two or three years older – and she looked especially edible, with the hip-hugging clubbing outfit she wore. "Haven't seen you around here before. What's your name?"

"Kennedy Greene. I'm new in town," she introduced herself politely. They began to talk, and after hearing that Aura used to be that Cordelia person's best friend, Kennedy relaxed enough to enjoy the unexpected companionship for the evening. It turned out that Aura knew a lot about what really happened in Sunnydale, after the sun went down –

And unless her gay-dar was completely off, Kennedy was pretty sure that Aura was into girls just as much as she was.

That was why Kennedy didn't object when Aura eventually suggested for them to go upstairs to 'find somewhere a bit more private.' Her new acquaintance seemed in something of a hurry, too, so Kennedy followed her up the stairs to a secluded spot along the catwalk with a smile on her face. But then –

{ _OH MY GOD!_ } Kennedy mentally shrieked, as Aura's face morphed into that of a monster. The forehead ridges, the yellow eyes, the fangs! { _She's a_ _ **vampire!**_ }

Before she could run for it, though, Aura froze. Kennedy noticed, but she didn't care – her entire instinct was get the hell out of here immediately –

"Oh, don't leave yet," a brunette wearing slightly unfashionable clothes said to her, after appearing out of the shadows. Kennedy didn't move as the woman added, "This particular party isn't over, after all."

"Amy Madison," the vampiress growled at the new arrival, obviously recognizing her. "What are you doing here, you fat-ass loser?"

"Insults from when we were in high school, Aura? When you're the one trapped and helpless, here?" the Madison woman replied, shaking her head. "You should have taken your own advice to Cordelia more carefully, Aura. Letting Harmony of all vampires get the jump on you, that's just pathetic – and it's obviously made you lose quite a few IQ points as well!"

The black woman growled like an animal, which almost made Kennedy run off again. Seeing this, Amy reached into her handbag and pulled out a stake, before placing it in her right hand. "Kennedy, right? Stake her."

"What?!" both Kennedy and Aura demanded at the same time.

Amy shrugged. "I'm not really in the mood to set Aura on fire, and dust her that way. Already had enough of that sort of thing, lately. Besides, Kennedy, you need to practice for if you're Called after the current Slayer dies. Just relax and aim for the heart, she can't harm you – "

"You can't do this!" Aura hissed furiously, her demonic-looking face nonetheless betraying her fear.

Kennedy abruptly lifted her arm and plunged the stake into Aura's chest, watching as a skeleton appeared for a moment; before there was a whistling, screeching sound – and then dust exploded everywhere. "Eww, gross!" she spluttered, trying to get the stuff off of her clothes.

"Welcome to the wonderful world of vampire Slayage," Amy replied in amusement.

"Why – " Kennedy paused, coughing for a moment. "Why did you help me? Save my life like this? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm really grateful and all, but I – "

"Because according to Whistler, you have a role to play in the grand scheme of things," Amy interrupted. She then pointed down to the lower level of the Bronze before adding, "In fact, if it wasn't for my semi-idiotic, would-have-been husband down there, who's currently dancing with Cordelia? You'd have become the Slayer a long time ago."

" _ **What?!**_ "

"Never mind, it's too complicated to explain right now. Just trust me when I say there's a reason why that Wesley Wyndam-Pryce guy was in New York to save your life, and then bring you here," Amy sighed. "Anyway, make sure you don't forget this little lesson about the dangers of talking to strangers in this town – 'cause the next time, I might not be there to save you!"

"OK. Fine. Say, do you wanna join me downstairs for a drink? Maybe some dancing?" Kennedy asked eagerly.

Amy glanced at her in amusement. "Sorry, but I don't swing that way. And even if I did, I'd probably go for Faith's type rather than yours." Without another word, the witch – or whatever she was – simply faded into the shadows of the club's upper level.

{ _Oh yeah. She likes me, I can tell!_ } Kennedy thought to herself with a smile, as she made her way downstairs. { _Too bad I don't have a phone number, but that's a problem I'm sure can be solved with time..._ }

To Be Concluded…

* * *

A/N: Wow, this story has passed the 200 review mark! Thank ye kindly to everyone who contributed to that. Now, we hope you liked the Lilah Morgan surprise, and that it wasn't too obvious from the clues earlier in the story. And yes, we know that Phantom Dennis got shamefully slighted in this fic - but the way things worked out, there simply wasn't all that much for him to do! Our bad, to be sure. And as for Connor, what do you all think - was that boy choosing to stay behind in Sunnydale something totally OOC for him? We didn't think so, due to his circumstances after everything that's happened in this fanfic, but we'd like to hear your opinion on that - as well as your opinions on what's happened with Xander, Cordelia, Buffy, Angel and Kennedy. The second last paragraph of the chapter is a tribute to Alkeni, by the way, who is the most vocal Faith/Amy 'shipper we know! Anyway, there's just one last segment to come to tie everything up and finish it off (hopefully). So thanks for reading, and please give us your feedback!


	29. Epilogue II

**A/N:** Finally, we come to the end of this story. In a word, it's been fun! Just wanted to thank everyone involved in the writing of it, including our beta readers Greywizard and Bill Haden. We also wish to thank everyone who sent in reviews and feedback, in reverse order of appearance:

Guest, Mike3207, Chi Vayne, Rake1810, Quathis, Red Jacobson, David, bwburke94, Twilight Warrior 627, David Fishwick, kurotenshi-08, garfan, Alkeni, Snorpenbass, Wes George, agnar, Cloongarvin, Worldmaker, Chunk127, eyann85, DonR, trongod, CharlesLWalker, Wonderbee31, FE, xavierp, fullhans1, Bobboky, taran63, ShaiGar, guyverexcel1, TieDyeJackson, DaBillmann, Fayari, and anyone else we might have missed!

Well, that's enough from us; time to get on with what you all came here for. We hope you enjoy the final chapter of _Memory_ , and as always, please don't be shy in telling us what you thought of the chapter and the story overall!

* * *

 **Epilogue II**

 _Friday, November 15, 2002 – Sunnydale High School basement, Sunnydale; late afternoon:_

Oz made his way towards the seal of Danzalthar, a frown on his features as he walked across the dirt floor to the circular metal object in question.

Being back on the Hellmouth after the peace and tranquility of Nepal over the past two years, that felt... odd, to be perfectly honest. Oh, sure, his mother had been pleased to see him again – ditto, Aunt Maureen and Uncle Ken and his cousin Jordy, who was almost a teenager now – but the feelings of alienation and displacement that seemed to dog his feet just wouldn't go away. Especially where his ex-girlfriend was concerned.

{ _Willow._ } He hadn't known exactly what to expect after he, Faith and Groo had shown up at Buffy's place last night – but the redhead instantly hurling herself into his arms, and profusely welcoming him back that way, certainly hadn't been it. Especially since Buffy had looked at him like she almost couldn't believe he'd willingly returned to the mouth of Hell.

{ _Really strange how Cordelia acted like I never even left town, though. Sure, that magical amnesia and all, but still – almost bizarre. Just as weird as Xander giving me a big hug and saying he was glad Groo and I showed up in town, in order to help balance out the group's testosterone and estrogen levels._ }

Shrugging, Oz put such thoughts aside as he examined the seal. Yes, he could understand now why Jonathan had called it evil –

"Hello, Oz."

That somewhat familiar female voice caused him to straighten up and turn around. He stared at the image of Veruca – the female werewolf he'd killed all those years ago, who'd wanted to kill Willow – before he said serenely, "You're the First Evil."

"And you're an evil killer, albeit in werewolf form. So that works out well," Veruca/the First smiled, coming closer towards him. "I mean, you killed me – remember?"

Oz shook his head. "You're not Veruca. I can tell."

"Oh, right, the whole werewolf nose thing. Well, why don't we see what we can do about that?" the eldritch horror smiled, and a few moments later, Oz almost staggered as his former lover's scent quickly filled his nostrils – along with the pheromones that had bewitched him to 'notice' Veruca, in a purely physical way.

Calling on all the self-control he had developed in Bhaktapur and elsewhere, Oz quickly shook his head as he stared at the enemy. "Nice try, but that's not gonna get you anywhere."

'Veruca' silently snarled, but then morphed into the image of the Willow vampire he'd encountered during his second senior year of high school. "Well, I'm just getting started, lover. Wanna engage in a quick game of 'Mistress of Pain'? Because trust me, it's a lot more fun when you don't have to breathe!"

"That's not gonna work, either," Oz shook his head again. "Heard a theory that everyone has a soul mate in this world. And if it's true, that Tara girl was Willow's one true love, not me – even though she's dead now."

'Vamp Willow' morphed into the image of Tara, who sneered at him. "And doesn't that make you angry, Oz? The fact that when you two were together, deep down, Willow liked girls just as much as you do? Doesn't it piss you off that you could have had a future with Veruca – someone who wanted you, and no one else – if you'd made a different choice back then? But instead... you were so afraid of losing your precious Willow, of _**hurting**_ her, you ran away after killing that rabid bitch, and then when you came back – "

"Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering," Oz interrupted, the calm tone of voice visibly aggravating the original evil. "It's kind of like the concept of karma, you know? Whatever you sow, so shall ye reap."

"Karma? Seriously, Oz? I thought you knew who you were talking to," Tara/the First sneered at him again. "You're just like that Cordelia girl, did you know that? Blundering in where you're not wanted, or needed – "

"Not true," he interrupted the First Evil's monologue. "Question. After we put a stop to your evil plans, you're not gonna say something like, 'and I would have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn't been for you meddling kids' – are you? Xander _**did**_ come up with that whole Scooby Gang nickname for the group, after all."

The look on the First Evil's face literally had to be seen to be believed. "You annoying piece of – "

"Tara?"

Oz turned to see Willow staring at the First Evil in horror. { _Darn. She must have followed me here. Betcha that's gonna complicate things._ }

The redhead then said chokingly, "No... "

"Oh, yes! Here she is, folks, it's our favorite killer witch! Y'know, Oz, I'm thinking that Kennedy girl won't stand a chance now – because you and Willow? You two crazy kids might actually make it work this time around, despite the whole lesbian phase Willow's currently stuck in," Tara/the First said sarcastically.

"It's NOT a-!" Willow started to scream, before Oz placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't let it get to you," he told her calmly. "It's OK, Will. The First can't do anything but get inside your head if you let it, remember?"

"Which would be a good thing, in this case," Tara/the First smirked. "Seriously, Rosenberg, this world would be much better off if you simply took a razor blade to your wrists! It would be so easy, too – I can see it now, candle light in your bedroom... the Indigo Girls playing... a picture of your dead girlfriend on your bloody lap – "

"STOP LOOKING LIKE HER!" Willow screamed, her eyes going black. "I'm warning you – you stop using Tara's face that way, or I'll – "

"You'll what?" the ghostly nightmare interrupted her. "Skin me alive? Send a fireball after me? Raise a demon temple and – "

"That's enough," Oz interrupted, moving in between his ex-girlfriend and the First Evil. "We're done here."

Tara/the First sent him an evil smile. "So you say. But I think my Harbingers might have something to say about that, you know?"

The First smiled... and its smile stretched wider and wider around its stolen face until it became grotesque, like a macabre horror mask. The next moment, the rest of Tara's body was somehow sucked into the gaping hole. Then the First Evil was gone.

Less than five seconds later, six Bringers showed up, and Oz immediately unleashed his werewolf aspect to rip their throats open – before the black-eyed Willow shouted, "OBRUO!"

Immediately, the heads of all six Bringers were ripped away from their necks, while they were literally leaping forward. Oz initially assumed that even in death, they were trying to attack him and Willow, but then he realized – the bad guys were aiming for the seal, instead...

With his enhanced lupine reflexes, he managed to stop two of the bodies mid-leap. Willow telekinetically stopped two of the others. One of the two remaining corpses missed its target and landed off to the side of the seal, the Bringer's head rolling away along the earthen floor – but the last Bringer's remains landed on the metal surface, some blood spilling into the etched grooves –

"Oh, no," Willow said in alarm, as her eyes went back to normal. "I can feel it, I – no, no, no..."

Oz watched the seal briefly glow with white light, before he resumed his human form and escorted his worried ex-girlfriend back to 1630 Revello Drive. { _Gonna need to talk to Wesley about this, no doubt about it._ }

* * *

 _Saturday, November 16, 2002 – alley behind a strip mall, Sunnydale; early morning:_

"Forget it," Wesley vaguely heard the demon say to Miss Jenkins, as it emptied a garbage can into a nearby dumpster. And the term 'vaguely' applied because right now, Wes wasn't entirely focused on the conversation – given he had so many other things to think about.

Like what was going to happen with that blasted seal, now that blood had been shed upon it. Purchasing a house big enough for Kennedy and the other incoming Potentials to live in, thanks to Mr. Greene sending him all the money he needed to keep the man's daughter safe. And cutting loose his operatives in Los Angeles; what with his new mission nowadays, he couldn't be part of that group's activities any longer. Even his recent encounter with Faith –

Hrmm. It was _**odd**_ how quickly he'd managed to put the past behind him where that girl was concerned, actually. Young Mr. Harris was right, the dark-haired Chosen One _**had**_ changed for the better. Not that he'd ever be friends with her, of course, but Faith's attitude and sincere apology for what she'd done to him made Wes think that they could actually work together against the First Evil.

Well, hopefully, anyway. Otherwise, he could always use Mr. Levinson as a buffer of sorts, given how that former criminal had apparently developed something of a schoolboy crush on his former charge.

Luckily, Wesley knew that there would be no problem establishing a good working relationship with Miss Summers. Not to mention Mr. Osbourne. Well, assuming that Miss Rosenberg didn't distract the werewolf _**too**_ much, what with the way they'd been acting yesterday –

"Why not?" the former Anyanka demanded, bringing Wes back to the here and now.

"I don't believe this. You actually have the nerve to ask me that, after what you did to me?" the horribly disfigured-looking demon demanded.

"Oh, come on, Torg; that was like a lifetime ago!" Miss Jenkins exploded in disbelief.

Wesley tried his best to resist the sudden impulse to bring out his pistol to shoot one or possibly even both of them, as the demon – Torg – replied, "Three, but who's counting? The point is you broke my heart, Anyanka."

"Uch, please – don't be so dramatic, Torg. You don't even have a heart!" She chuckled briefly, "Six spleens, two stomachs, half a brain maybe, but no heart!"

"Don't mock my pain. That night we spent together was... important to me," Torg replied, causing Wesley to roll his eyes in disbelief.

"Is there any chance we could possibly skip the rest of this maudlin display, and simply get on with why Miss Jenkins and I are actually here?" he demanded, unable to keep a lid on his temper any longer.

"Gimme one good reason why I should help you," Torg demanded, lowering his garbage can to the ground.

"All right – in case you haven't realized, there are two Vampire Slayers now stationed in Sunnydale. You open the gateway to Beljoxa's Eye for us, and the Chosen Two won't kill you and burn your establishment down to the ground," Wesley said in a clipped, calm tone.

"He's kidding," Miss Jenkins said hurriedly, before sending him a fierce glare.

"No, I'm not," he replied, maintaining eye contact with the demon.

The soulless creature glared at the former demoness, and then at him. Torg then put his fist in front of Wesley's face, before he pulled on a claw sticking out of the back of his hand until a loud crunching sound was heard. Torg squeezed his fist and then flung the blood from his wounded hand toward the back of the alley. A moment later, a portal appeared, glowing white.

"Ek'vola mokt Beljoxa do'kar," Torg chanted, before he said, "There's your stinking gateway, Anyanka." The demon then picked up his garbage can and added, "Don't let it hit you and your new boyfriend on the way out." Torg then walked back inside the strip mall.

"He really thinks I'd actually settle for you? Ugh! I can't believe I ever had intoxicated sex with him," Miss Jenkins growled. Then she frowned. "Do you think that Groo person would be upset, if he learned about all this? Because I _**am**_ willing to settle for him, you know. He's so handsome and strong, and what's more, his kill count is just totally – "

"Come on," Wesley interrupted her, grabbing the woman by the wrist.

"Wait, I mean – do you really need me for this part?" Miss Jenkins asked in annoyance, as he dragged her towards the portal. "I'm sure you'll be able to manage just fine on your owwwwwwwn!"

* * *

 _A few moments later – dark dimension; night:_

Wesley was somewhat surprised; even though Miss Jenkins – Anya – had warned him that this realm would be like an 'infernal vortex', he hadn't expected it to be quite so dark and windy as they stepped through the portal. { _Well, that'll teach me not to make assumptions based on my experiences in Pylea._ }

"God, I hate this place," Anya complained, looked around.

"Where's Beljoxa's Eye?" Wesley demanded brusquely, as he was in no mood to tolerate her whining.

"Over here," a deep, echoing voice answered him.

Still holding Anya by the wrist, Wesley walked slowly towards the source of the voice, doing his best to stand against the fierce winds buffeting them. They soon arrived in the presence of the most outlandish creature he'd ever seen – it was basically a huge, multi-ocular eye, with a number of nerve endings streaming out behind it. It also had a body of sorts – but there were eyes covering its pink flesh in varied shapes, sizes, and colors. The main part of the Oracle-like creature was in a spherical metal cage, suspended from the ceiling in by chains, so he decided to focus on that. "Beljoxa's Eye, I presume?"

"Ah! Oh, hi," Anya said to the creature, waving with her free hand.

"Why are you here, Anyanka?" Beljoxa's Eye demanded, ignoring him.

"Wasn't exactly my idea," the former demoness complained, before yanking her arm out of his grasp. "I mean, I just so happened to mention to Groo that I'd met you, not to mention who and what you are – and the next thing I know, I get _**drafted**_ into bringing you the ex-Watcher here, cutting into my time to make a profit at the Magic Box –"

"We need information on the First Evil," Wesley cut her off, getting down to business. "How to destroy it."

"It cannot be killed. It cannot even be fought effectively. The First Evil has been and always will be. Since before the universe was born, and long after there is nothing else, it will go on," the Eye replied pompously.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Wesley was quickly reminded of Whistler's cryptic comment of not believing everything he heard about the First. So he said, "I refuse to accept that. There must be some way to kill it. Or at least cripple it, somehow."

"What, am I talking to myself here? There's no way to... oh, cripple it? Yeah, that's possible," Beljoxa's Eye suddenly sounded a lot more conversational.

"What? How?" Anya demanded incredulously.

"Hope's Dagger," the Eye replied cryptically.

"Meaning?" Wesley demanded.

Beljoxa's Eye quickly explained how that particular weapon had been forged from the very first ray of light to shine upon the Earth by Cassandra Rayne – twelfth century ancestor of Ethan Rayne, and that era's Champion of the Powers That Be. The oracle then explained how the First Evil had hidden the dagger in its own personal hell dimension, after the Champion who'd forged it had been slain there. Apparently, the dagger wasn't enough to kill the First; but stabbing the original evil with the weapon would disperse its consciousness throughout all the countless dimensions out there. Something that would take the First centuries to recover from.

"And how exactly do we access the First Evil's hell dimension to recover this dagger?" Wesley demanded, feeling a brief surge of hope that the world-wide slaughter of the Potential Slayers could soon be brought to an end.

"The Eye sees not the future, only the truth of the now and before," their host said pompously.

Wesley immediately pulled out his pistol, and aimed it at Beljoxa's Eye – that part of it within the spherical cage. "Well, unless you want to see nothing except the before from this moment onwards? I suggest you drop the cryptic act, and answer the bloody question!"

"WESLEY!" Anya yelped, backing away from him in horror.

"You won't pull the trigger. You'd be trapped in here forever if you did," Beljoxa's Eye told him calmly, even though Wes could detect a slight trace of fear in its voice.

"And you'd be blind for the rest of your life. Can't help wondering if that would be worth it," he riposted.

"Yeah, you would, too. Alright fine, check out the appropriate chapter in Rhinehardt's Compendium – the version not available in your dimension, I mean," Beljoxa's Eye replied, sounding annoyed.

"And where do we find one of those?" Anya asked, slowly returning to his side.

"Closest source would be the L.A. branch of Wolfram & Hart, and the evil lawyer who's now pregnant with his kid," the Eye responded glibly.

Wesley _**almost**_ shot Beljoxa's Eye at once for that one; but luckily, Anya grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away before he did something foolish – and trapped both of them in that windy, accursed dimension forever.

* * *

 _A while later – outside the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; late morning:_

Xander pulled over his F-250 truck (the Taurus was finally getting repaired, back in Sunnydale) outside Angel's hotel, and glanced at Cordelia. His girlfriend didn't look happy, sitting rigidly in the passenger seat and staring at the building. He couldn't blame her; the only memories she had of this place weren't exactly happy ones, by her own admission. "You OK?"

"No, but I will be. C'mon, let's just get this over with," Cordy said roughly, unbuckling her seat belt.

"You don't have to go in there, ya know," Xander reached out for her left hand, and grasped it tightly. "I can easily go in by myself, and grab all your stuff – "

"No. I _**have**_ to do this. It's like, closure or something," Cordelia insisted, looking him right in the eye. "Besides, it's not as if Angel's gonna try to force me to stay here. Try to talk me into it, maybe, but nothing else."

"Yeah, I guess," Xander replied dubiously, before he nodded more firmly. "And if he does try anything funny, I'll – "

"Panic like a wuss, run around like a headless chicken, and not much else?" Cordelia interjected, raising one eyebrow.

"Well, yeah," Xander admitted sheepishly.

Cordelia grinned at him. "Don't try that one on me, Doofus. I know you'd hurl yourself at that vampire with a stake in one hand and a bottle of holy water in the other, and try to dust him with everything you've got! In fact, you'd try so hard to kill him that Angel would be forced to kill you to stop you. And then he'd have to deal with Buffy, and probably that Faith girl as well... "

Xander didn't miss the brief, wary expression on Cordelia's face that vanished almost immediately. He knew that the newly-arrived Chosen One was a source of some tension between them, just like the Groosalugg. Hopefully, though, the presence of their former lovers in Sunnydale wouldn't be too much of an issue, in the weeks and months to come...

"Hey. You know that Faith and I are just friends now, right?" Xander asked carefully, as Cordelia stared at him curiously. "Just like I know there's nothing going on between you and that Groo guy."

"Well, duh!" the brunette replied scornfully. "What? You were worried I'd dump you for him? Even if Groo does have that drool-worthy body, and the whole superhero -slash- Champion thing going for him, not to mention I've apparently had sex with him and it was _**fantastic**_ – "

"OK, _**now**_ I'm not totally sure that you two are completely splitsville," Xander interrupted.

"Oooohhh-!" Cordelia growled at him. "You jerk... God, you'd almost think the Dumbass I've given my heart to doesn't believe he deserves me, or something!"

"Huh." Xander carefully put his expression into neutral. "Completely ridiculous. What makes you even say such a thing?"

Her eyes narrowing, Cordelia studied him suspiciously. She rolled her eyes, tossing her (still way too short) hair to one side before saying, "Oh, yeah. _**That**_ sounded convincing."

"I should work on my delivery, huh?"

"Only if you want me to keep believing how that Faith girl was just joking about the whole conjugal visit in prison, Dweeb!"

"Come on, sweetheart," Xander said with a brief smirk, briefly squeezing her hand as they both got out of the car. "Let's get this over with, already."

* * *

 _A few moments later – the main lobby of the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; late morning:_

If he'd been human, Angel's heart might actually have stopped beating when he saw Cordelia enter through the front doors of the detective agency. It was almost perfect timing, actually; Drusilla was upstairs asleep in her room, Lorne was meeting with one of his clients in El Segundo, Gunn was likewise elsewhere meeting with his friend Rondell, plus Kate wasn't scheduled to come over until later this afternoon. Oh, sure, Fred wasn't far away, but –

Hope momentarily surged in Angel's heart that Cordelia had figured out where she truly belonged nowadays and she'd arrived home of her own free will, that everything was going to go back to the way it was – but then he saw the disgusted look on the Seer's face, and that hope died a quick and nasty death. The next moment, his nose started telling him something that he really didn't want to acknowledge –

Namely, that she _**reeked**_ of Xander Harris.

That damn punk's scent had mingled with hers so much it was impossible to tell where Cordelia's ended, and Xander's began. And since there was only one way that horny little bastard could have accomplished that –

"Hello, Angel," Cordelia said stiffly. It sounded like she was bending over backwards in terms of forcing herself to be civil to him, which tore at his mind and soul like nothing else could. "Sorry to bother you, but I've come for my stuff. Can you show me where it is?"

"Hello, Cordelia. Xander," Angel said equally stiffly, acknowledging the guy only because the woman he loved was doubtless expecting him not to do it. "And yeah, I can do that – "

"I'll do it, if you like," Fred said, appearing in the lobby. Angel was easily able to tell which option Cordelia would prefer, and so he didn't say anything as the Texan woman added, "Uh, Cordy, could we – I mean, if you have time – can we talk?"

"Yeah, I guess. Xander and I have to visit the local LAPD stationhouse to get all my stuff there after we leave here, but we don't have any major plans after that. OK, I was going to go shopping afterwards, buy some stuff to redecorate our apartment into something a little more to my tastes – but that can wait for a little while, I suppose... " Cordelia's voice trailed off as she and Fred left, walking up the stairs.

Angel riveted his gaze upon Xander, and scowled when he just calmly stared back. "Well. Here we are."

"Yup. We are here. Just the two of us. You and me. A duo of twosomeness," Harris nodded. "So. Shall we get started?"

Angel blinked. "Get started on what?"

"You know, the talk. It's kinda traditional in these situations."

"What? What talk, what do you mean?"

"Well, y'know, you start off by saying something like, "You think you've won, haven't you?" and I reply with a "Huh?" and then you say, "You don't deserve her, you never have and you never will!" and then I hit back with something like, "Oh, and you do?" and then it just gets all _**kinds**_ of nasty between us – "

"Xander!" Angel snapped, before somehow forcing himself to calm down. Damn it, but this guy could still bug him like no one else on Earth – or even that hell dimension he'd been sent to by Buffy, all those years ago. "We both know that Cordelia made it real clear in Sunnydale; it's none of my business any longer who she associates with, or gets... " The words stuck in his throat, but he still managed to say them, "...involved with."

"Which is of the good," Xander said, nodding. "But I figured I'd give you the opportunity."

"Wait, what? You _**want**_ me to give you the shovel speech?" he asked in surprise.

"Eh, sort of. It shows you care, if nothing else," Xander shrugged.

"It's Cordelia. She's been with me for the past three years! Of course I care," Angel growled, he simply couldn't help it.

"Well, sure you do," Xander said, nodding again. "Considering you've developed a major thing for her and all."

"That's got nothing to do with you," Angel growled again, cursing his inability to keep a tight rein on his emotions.

"Beg to differ. Nowadays, anything to do with Cordelia affects me. Just like it would you, if she was still the same woman who chose to become your Vision Girl," Xander said reflectively. "So I'm asking you, man to vampire. What are your intentions towards my girlfriend?"

Angel almost winced at the 'girlfriend' thing, and then said, "Intentions? I don't... "

"Have any? Not buying that one, sorry. 'Cause like it or not, I've been where you're at. When Cordy left me all those years ago, I mean. Plus, let's face it, Angel – I know you pretty well, even though it's been a few years since you were last lurking in Sunnydale."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, the odds are that sooner or later – you'll do something stupid, and try to get your Cordelia back. Break that memory spell, and let whatever's infected my girlfriend take over her mind and body – just like that Whistler guy said would happen."

"I would _**not!**_ " Angel shouted, glaring at the useless prick with white-hot fury.

"Never, ever? Not under _**any**_ circumstances? Not even if one of that rogue Power's agents – whoever the hell they may be – engineered something to make ya believe that it was all nothing but a trick? Or a lie, or whatever. You seriously expect me to believe that you'd keep in mind everything you heard in Sunnyhell, if you became convinced that your Cordelia needed you to step up and 'free' her from that spell?" Xander shook his head. "I know a little something about self-deception, y'see. It's real easy to talk yourself into doing what you think is right – when deep down... it's all about what you want to happen, instead. One of the reasons I walked out on my wedding to Anya last year, actually; I didn't want to hurt her by eventually turning into my father."

Angel frowned. "I never knew that."

Harris shrugged slightly. "Not like you and I have talked much since high school. We were never friends, either. But we do have us a Cordy in common, now, so I'm hoping you could answer me a personal question. Namely, do you love her?"

"What?"

"Do. You. Love. Her." Xander's eyes bored into his. "Cordelia Chase."

"There are many different kinds of love – human love, that is. But if you're referring to what I think you are, I thought I could," Angel bit out, annoyed. "Kind of pointless now, though, right?"

Again, those dark brown eyes stared into his, remorseless, searching for something. So Angel elaborated, despite himself. "Do I love Cordelia as a friend? Of course. As something more? I... well, I guess so, yeah. After everything that's happened this week, I'm pretty sure I do. Love her that way, I mean."

"Then question, part two. What can you offer Cordy now that you couldn't offer Buffy, back in the day?"

He growled yet again, he simply couldn't help it. "That's hitting below the belt, Xander, even for you!"

"Maybe. But when you love someone, it's not about _**you**_. It's about what's best for the woman you love, Angel, and what makes _**her**_ happiest. So, again. What can you – immortal, soul-cursed vampire – offer any mortal human woman?"

"I won't be immortal forever," Angel said, before cursing his malfunctioning brain to mouth filter. Still, he had already gone this far, so he decided to keep going and answer the unspoken question on the annoying asshole's face. "There's a prophecy called the Shanshu, it foretells how the vampire with a soul eventually becomes human – "

"You? It mentions you by name? 'Cause not necessarily the only one with a soul nowadays. I mean, Spike had one before Cordelia killed the guy, for all the good it did him," Harris shook his head.

Angel opened his mouth, and suddenly shut it again. He decided not to mention Drusilla and her newly ensouled status, that led somewhere he didn't want to go – at least, not with this guy. That Valentine's Day debacle, and all. "No. The prophecy didn't specifically mention me by name. But I was mystically drawn to the scrolls it was written upon, when I first came across it – "

"And so, you assumed it was about you. Hrmm, well, I guess you could be right. But when exactly is it supposed to happen?" Xander interrupted, staring at him curiously. "Next week? Next month? Next year?"

"I don't know. Wes could never figure it out," Angel admitted reluctantly.

"So – you could become human in, say, a decade from now? Or a century? Maybe even longer?" Harris asked neutrally.

"Yes," he admitted, even more reluctantly.

Xander shrugged again. "In other words, you're perfectly OK with asking a woman to spend the best years of her life waiting for you to become a real boy, knowing beforehand how it might never happen in her lifetime?"

"You know what? I'm starting to have a major problem with you," Angel scowled.

"Gee. Behind the curve, much? Angel, I started having a major problem with you years ago. And that was _**before**_ Angelus showed up."

"What do you want from me?" Angel demanded, suddenly sick of this whole thing. "I mean, why the hell are we having this conversation? Are you just here to gloat about how you won the girl, or what?"

"Gloating thing, not so much. I'm just here for Cordelia. And to talk to you about Connor."

Angel blinked. "You lost me on the curve. What's that supposed to mean?"

"He's your son," Xander looked at him as if it was obvious. "So I thought you'd want to know how he's doing. You _**are**_ his father, aren't you?"

"Well, yeah – "

"He's doing OK, according to Dawn," Xander interrupted. "See, I've noticed how those two have started hanging out together, since the other night. And sure, Connor's totally focusing on Cordelia right now, romantically speaking; but he's eighteen, and he has half your genes. And if you could move on from Buffy to Cordy, I figure it's not impossible for your son to likewise move on from my girlfriend to Dawnie. So, have you given him the Talk yet? You know, that good old birds and the bees speech – and how it relates to younger women?"

Angel gaped at his unwelcome companion. He eventually stuttered, "I, uh, n-no, I-I-I haven't – "

"Then you definitely should, and sooner rather than later. Definitely not a good idea for me to do it, y'know, since I suck at making speeches – and your son probably sees me as the competition, anyway. And even if I'm wrong about that, not a good idea for a case of wild monkey love happening between Connor and Buffy's little sister anytime soon; on account of Slay-gal might rip it off afterwards with her bare hands. And that's not a worst case scenario, with her current stress levels."

"What are you talking about?" Angel demanded. "Buffy has a stress problem? Why? What's wrong with her?"

"Well, she is kinda wigging out after all the First Evil's mind games, lately. Hey, I'm sure you haven't forgotten everything you heard on Thursday night about what all we've had to deal with; plus, you still remember that particular Christmas in Technicolor detail, don't you?"

He repressed an involuntary shudder at those bad memories. "Yeah."

"Well, in Buffy's case, it's been going on for ages now, instead of the few days the First tormented you for. Plus she's got to deal with Faith being back, and all the issues there. Not to mention her day job, counseling those kids – who have all kinds of trauma, simply by attending Hellmouth High. Oh, and let's not forget the Buffster knocking me out cold the other night, it's definitely affected her relationships with everyone in our little social circle. Put it all together, and Buffy might actually start coming apart at the seams – if Connor decides he likes what he's seeing, where the Dawnster's concerned. So next time you call him, Angel? You might want to ask your kid something in that direction."

He suddenly realized something. "You keep using my name – there's been no 'Dead Boy' or whatever, since the moment you came into my house. No stupid nicknames like 'Captain Hair Gel', or 'Lord of the Brood', or anything like that. Not even once. What gives?"

"Finally noticed that, huh? Nothing important, really, more an experiment than anything else. See, I know you have a problem with me right now because of Cordelia – a big one. I thought maybe if I lay off the wisecracks, you'd see how I'm not that dumb kid who used to chase after Buffy any longer, and who always hated your guts because she chose you instead of me. Heh. Guess I was also hoping it might make you trust me that I'd take good care of Cordelia from now on."

"Right, 'cause _**that**_ worked out so well the last time," Angel replied snippily.

"'Bout as well you treating Buffy right, yup," Xander nodded, apparently ignoring the seething expression that Angel was sure had momentarily appeared on his face. The annoying mortal then added, "So, is it working? The lack of name-calling thing?"

"Haven't decided yet," he replied, staring at the punk frostily.

"Well, you think about it, then," Xander said, as he turned towards the staircase. Angel did likewise, just in time to see Cordelia and Fred returning from upstairs with quite a number of bags and boxes in their arms. Harris then added, "I'll be interested in hearing what kind of answer you come up with."

Angel said nothing as Xander took the box and the bags from Fred, and then said goodbye to both him and the former physicist. It _**hurt**_ hearing more warmth and affection in that guy's voice than Cordelia's as she, too, said her farewells – but he managed to hide his emotions behind an expressionless mask until after they were gone, and Fred had wandered off somewhere.

Then Angel retreated into his private office, and began releasing all his pent-up rage and frustration on the helpless furniture.

All things considered, it was probably fortunate for him that Kate showed up early at the Hyperion later that day, before he did something _**completely**_ stupid.

* * *

 _A while earlier –_ _Skip's residence, demon dimension_ _; late morning:_

" _ **Fix it.**_ "

The words hung in the air long after the amorphous, formless speaker had faded from view.

{ _Fix it,_ } Skip thought, snorting derisively. { _Holy crap – why don't_ _ **you**_ _fix it, Boss? It's your stupid half-assed 'plan' that got us into this mess in the first place!_ }

 _ **Not**_ that he'd said that, or even thought it, while the Beastmaster (good enough nickname for the boss as any, he couldn't help thinking) was present. His employer outweighed him in terms of Power, capital P, as he outweighed a friggin' ant on the mortal plane. And the boss would have crushed him like an ant, too, if he'd pissed it off in any way.

{ _Well, crap._ }

So, how to fix it? After he'd lost track of the Mother, once Lean and Green's memory spell went off-track – not to mention dealing with everything Whistler and his never-to-be-sufficiently-damned witch-bitch had set up, in order to keep him busy – it hadn't even occurred to him that the Seer may have fled back to the Hellmouth. To his way of thinking, given how hard he'd worked to isolate Angel's bimbo from Sunnydale and her old life there, all those people should have been out of the picture completely by this point –

But then, that dumb womb with a view never was all that cooperative, in terms of sticking to the game plan that had been laid out for her. Seriously – she should never have spread her legs open for that useless clown she'd been involved with even _**once**_ , let alone three times!

Although – well, that Harris kid wasn't exactly descended from a monk or something, was he? On his paternal side, the Mother's high school boyfriend was related to William Doge – that seventeenth century asshole who'd spent his life privateering and romancing, wenching, and breaking hearts all through the Caribbean and the East Indies. _**And**_ leaving by-blows wherever he went. Just like most of his descendants.

What better lineage than that to get the Mother hooked on someone who was considered an algae-sucking bottom feeder by his peers, and set her up for the Big Betrayal a year or so down the line?

It _**should**_ have worked perfectly. Getting the Vision Girl away from Sunnydale, that is. Had to be done, too. Because after that idiot Ethan Rayne had invoked Janus's power for that moronic Halloween stunt of his? The God of Gates and Doorways had declared that all within the township who had been touched by that wave of chaos magic, were part of its own personal dominion.

It was only by having separated the annoying bitch from her cheater boyfriend, and getting her out of Janus's sphere of influence, that he'd been able to pull off his patron's machinations. Because, hell, if she'd stayed there and remained an item with someone under the Roman god's direct purview? Then for damn sure she'd have been off-limits to his employer. And the likes of him.

{ _The consequences will be most dire for you, if my link to the Mother isn't awakened and she isn't brought to the proper place – so that both her and the Father's presence can summon the Beast._ }

After hearing that, Skip had – just for a moment – wondered whether he was backing a losing horse. But he'd quashed such treacherous thoughts almost immediately, knowing it was way too late to back out of his contract now. Besides, the payoff was _**definitely**_ worth the risks in proceeding with the plan.

Because once his patron was able to fully manifest and ascend to fully-fledged Higher Power status, it'd have power to burn.

Power enough to immediately outclass the so-called Powers That Be – not to mention the Senior Partners of Wolfram & Hart as well.

Power enough to challenge the Lesser Gods. Possibly enough to even challenge the Elder Gods, as well.

And power enough that a dollop of its new clout invested in its contract employee would instantly catapult him to the status of a full-blown Lord of the Underdark.

Oh, well. The odds were that sooner or later, both the Mother and her pet monkey would depart that pestilent little burg, and –

{ _Crap! They're in Los Angeles, right now!_ } Skip suddenly realized, and vanished out of his lair with a puff of black smoke. Damn it, how could he have missed it before now? He probably wouldn't have much time, but if he could keep the annoying bitch in L.A. and summon the Father here as well, then maybe –

{ _Oh, hell – no!_ }

Skip could smell it, even hovering above the Grandfather's lobby in his intangible form like this. Somehow, the dumb little slut had gotten herself knocked up! Conceptus had taken place less than forty-eight hours ago, he could smell it – the Mother was pregnant, no doubt about that. But by the wrong Father!

Skip only just managed to restrain himself from materializing inside that damned hotel, and killing every single one of the fucking white hats. He knew his employer wouldn't like it, if he did such a thing without permission. And after listening to the conversation, Skip quickly came to the conclusion that the Mother – better make that former, intended Mother – was now useless to his boss. Both the harlot and that over-evolved chimpanzee of hers would be going back to friggin' Sunnydale later today, and there just wasn't enough time to set her up to have a miscarriage – at least, not without drawing _**way**_ too much unwelcome attention to himself...

Sighing in annoyance, Skip left the Hyperion and returned home. He needed time, alone, to think.

And eventually, he came to the conclusion that a little trip to the Hellmouth was in order.

Dangerous, sure. But doable. He needed to check up on the Father, and as long as he played by the rules, Janus wouldn't rub him out like a grease stain. Well, hopefully; you could never tell with the Elder Gods, sometimes. If he inadvertently crossed a line –

No, best not to think about that.

{ _Hrmm,_ } Skip thought to himself after arriving in Sunnydale. Doing nothing but observing the sights, and taking in the current circumstances. Including the Father's interactions with the Key at that Sun Cinema place. Damn brats were actually doing the whole dinner and a movie thing. Heh, about the only thing missing was –

{ _Whoa. I'm having a thought! Yeah, yeah, and now I'm having a plan!_ }

"Well, now, that could actually be a decent replacement plan. A new Mother. Sure, dumb teenager, and the boss would have to wait a bit longer to manifest – but it's better than never being born at all, right?" Skip mused to himself, before vanishing from the Hellmouth and returning home.

He had an employer to summon, and a new game plan to propose to her.

{ _What's it matter if the blondie Slayer might actually_ _ **castrate**_ _the Father, after he gets her pretend little sister pregnant at sixteen? If I can figure out how to make that girl ascend the way her predecessor did, and then let those two bump uglies together after she comes back – well, that's all that the boss will really care about!_ }

* * *

 _Many hours later – cliffs above Point Dume State Beach, Malibu; night:_

Amy and Whistler were staring out at the dark ocean, when the witch turned to face her mentor. "So, is that it? I mean, far as I know, that rogue PTB has been blocked from ever coming downstairs and taking over the world. And with any luck, the First will have its consciousness totally distributed throughout all the different realities – probably sooner rather than later, too. Well, hopefully, anyway. So, like I said, are we done now?"

"Depends," Whistler chuckled briefly. "I mean, if you want – you can call it quits and head back to Sunnydale, start living your life again. Everything I recruited you for, kid, you've done it by this point."

"Heh. You know – I'm not sure if I actually want to do that," Amy mused. "Go back to the Hellmouth and live an ordinary life again, I mean. Odds are that without you around, I'd slip straight back into bad habits – especially if I run into that so-called Scooby Gang again!"

"Well, it's up to you," Whistler said, coming up close to the railing and taking a big whiff of that salty sea air. Amy joined him as the Messenger added, "Free will, it's the most precious commodity in existence. Heck, even the First knows that."

"And you? Where's your free will, Whistler? I mean, doesn't it ever get to you? The endless balancing act between good and evil?" Amy asked, shaking her head. "Spending your life making sure that neither side ever wins, one way or another?"

"Sometimes, yeah," Whistler admitted. "But hard as it may be for you to believe, far as I'm concerned? Kid, it's not about winning or losing. The Powers, they groomed me right from the start to make sure the pendulum never swung too far either way – and to help out whenever and wherever I was needed. Not personally, of course, that was never my style. I always operated behind the scenes – for example, if the Dark Ages got too gloomy, I helped the Champions let in some light. Sometimes I hadda go the other way as well, of course. Still, whichever side got the assist, I couldn't ever get sentimental about it. That's why I know all about making the hard choices, kiddo, believe me. And right from the start, I _**always**_ chose the greater good."

Amy sighed. "Nice speech. But like it or not, not one but _**two**_ Big Bads came swooping in under the radar, and almost screwed up everything. Which doesn't exactly fill me with confidence that the Powers really know what they're doing! And I haven't forgotten what you said to me in that Pismo Beach diner last week, either."

"What do ya mean?"

"Well, you told me that Xander was the focus point for a lot things we needed to do to restore the balance to what it should be," Amy said, somewhat hesitantly. "But I don't get how you're going to manipulate him and everyone else any further, in order to bring about the outcomes you want. Especially now that he's gonna become a father, in nine months' time."

Giving her a smug look, Whistler replied, "Who said anything about manipulating him? Or the Cheerleader? If anything, kid, that's your department. So, how'd you pull off those two conceiving a little bundle of joy so quickly, anyway?"

Amy grimaced. "I cast a spell to make Dennis blank out for a few seconds – and then I hexed Xander's box of condoms, while you were making your big speech at Buffy's place the other night. Made sure those particular rubbers would split open the moment they touched female flesh. Well, a certain part of the female anatomy, anyway."

"And no need for me to ask where you got that idea from, huh? Sheesh, the things nerds come up with... wondering what powers they'd have, if they ever became gods," Whistler smirked and shook his head.

"Well, I still don't get it. I mean, Cordelia was always a complete bitch during high school, so it kinda serves her right getting pregnant at seventeen – mentally seventeen, whatever – but what was the real reason for getting me to do that?" Amy wanted to know. "You're the precog, so you tell me – what role is a baby gonna play, apart from making Queen C useless to Skip and his employer?"

"You'll see," Whistler smirked all over again, knowledge of the future reflected in his eyes. "Seriously – if you're gonna stick with me for a while longer, kid? Then trust me when I say the next year or so is gonna be _**really**_ educational, for all concerned!"

The End (for now)

(seriously, this time we mean it!)


End file.
